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MONTAGNE     SAINTE     GENEVlfeVE    AND     PANTHEON 
FROM     PONT    DE    L'ESTACADE 


[Page  6 


THE  PRAISE  OF  PARIS 


y 


BY 


THEODORE    CHILD 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1893 


Cf3 


Copyright,  1892,  by  Harim'.k  &  Brothers. 

All  rights  reseri'ed. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE   PRAISE   OF   PARIS •        •  3 

THE   BANKS   OF   THE   SEINE 19 

SOCIETY   IN   PARIS            55 

THE   LIFE   OF    PARIS 7' 

THE   PARISIENNE 87 

LE   GRAND   COUTURIER 99 

THE   BOULEVARD 113 

THE   DUELLISTS 135 

PROLETARIAN   PARIS 163 

THE   COMEDIE-FRANQAISE 205 

THE   INSTITUTE   OF    FRANCE 259 


LLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

The  Montague  Sainte  Genevieve  and  the  Pantheon  from  Pont  de  I'Es- 

tacade Frontispiece 

Arms  of  Paris 7 

Paris  from  Pavilion  de  Flore 3/ 

The  Louvre  from  Pont  Neiif 2j 

La  Sainte  Chapelle 24 

Notre  Dame — Sunset  Effect sy 

Monster  of  Notre  Dame sg 

Point  du  Jour  and  Eiffel  Tower 32 

Quai  de  la  Rapee 35 

Horses  Bathing — Pont  Marie 43 

Marche  aitx  Pommes 45 

Bassin  de  la  Villette 48 

Ecliise  Saint-Martin : 49 

Canal  Saint-Martin 51 

The  Champs-Elysces 59 

The  Arc  de  Triomphe '75 

The  Marquise  and  Her  Coiffeur 93 

Rue  de  la  Paix  from  the  Place  de  r  Opera 10 1 

Boulevard  des  Italiens 115 

Cafe  Scene 119 

Place  de  la  Madeleine 125 

Opera  —  Wet  Night 129 

Fencing-room 137 

The  Gambetta-Fourtou  Duel 141 


Vlll  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Pistol  Practice  before  the  Duel z^j 

Ititerventioii  of  Gendarmes i^-j 

A  Siuord  Duel /j/ 

Meetiitg  of  the  Seconds i^j 

First  Lesson  in  Fencing i^j 

Bijou  and  the  Pere  La  Gloirc 16"] 

Boulez'ard  Arago iji 

"  fe  veux  que  les  enfants  apprennent  le  code  " /y^ 

Allix iy6 

Allix ij8 

Wedding  in  the  Bois  dc  Boulogne iSj 

A  Cafe  Concert 1S7 

The  Salomon  Family iqj 

Exterior  of  the  Theatre 2oy 

Statue  of  Corneillc  in  the  Vestibule 2og 

Gallery  of  Busts 21  j 

Vestibttle  of  the  Theatre 21/ 

The  Grand  Staircase 221 

Public  Foyer,  with  Statue  of  I  ^oltaire 22^ 

The  Greenroom 22g 

Dressing-room  of  Mile.  Lloyd 2j2 

Actors  Behind  the  Scenes  {in  the  Guignol) 2j^ 

The  Cabinet  of  the  Administrator-general 241 

Statue  of  Moliere  in  the  Vestibule 24J 

Coquelin  Cadet  in  ''Le  Sphinx  " 24J 

Mounet-Sully  as  Hamlet 24J 

Coquelin  Aine  in  "Les  Ranisau" 2^1 

A  Learned  Member  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences 26J 

Meeting  of  the  French  Academy 26"/ 

Brown-Sequard  Explaining  an  Experiment  at  the  Academy  of  Sci- 
ences        272 

Jeton  de  Presence — M.  Chevrcul  Signing  the  Presence  Sheet    .     .     .  2yj 

Voting  at  the  Institute 280 

The  Hats  of  the  French  Academy 2S1 

L' Entree  des  Artistes 287 

Public  Meetitig  of  the  Five  Academies  of  the  Institute,  foseph  Ber- 

trand  Presiding 2QJ 


THE   PRAISE   OF  PARIS 


"  Paris  est  un  veritable  ocean.  Jetez-y  la  sonde,  vous  n'en  connaitrez  jamais  la 
profondeur.  Parcourez-le,  decrivez-le  :  quelque  soin  que  vous  mettiez  a  le  par- 
courir,  a  le  decrire  ;  quelque  nombreux  et  interesses  que  soient  les  explorateurs  de 
cette  mer,  il  s'y  rencontrera  toujours  un  lieu  vierge,  un  antre  inconnu,  des  fleurs, 
des  peries,  des  monstres,  quelque  chose  d'inoui,  oublie  par  les  plongeurs  litteraires." 
Bai.ZAC,  Le  Pere  Goriot. 


O 


Paris !"  cries  Sainte  -  Beuve,  the  great  critic, 
"  c'est  chez  toi  qu'il  est  doux  de  vivre,  c  est  chez 
toi  que  je  veux  mourir!"  To  live  and  to  die  in  Paris 
has  been  the  aspiration  of  many  other  geniuses  besides 
Sainte-Beuve.  Ever  since  Lutetia  sprang  from  the  mud 
of  the  He  de  la  Cite,  natives  and  foreigners  have  been 
singing  a  continuous  chorus  of  praise  in  her  honor. 
That  worthy  British  journalist,  John  Scott,  in  his  "Visit 
to  Paris  in  1814,"  says:  "Paris  is  still  far  from  equal- 
ling Athens,  but  it  gives  an  idea  of  what  the  glories  of 
the  latter  were,  and  this  is  more  than  can  be  said  of 
London."  Goethe,  in  conversation  with  the  receptive 
Eckermann,  begged  his  confidant  on  May  3,  1827, 
to  imagine  "  that  universal  town  where  every  step  one 
takes  recalls  a  great  past,  and  where  every  street-corner 
has  been  the  scene  of  a  fragment  of  history — the  Paris 
of  the  nineteenth  century  where,  since  three  ages  of 
men,  beings  like  Moliere,  Voltaire,  Diderot,  and  their 
fellows,  have  put  into  circulation  an  abundance  of 
ideas,  the  like  of  which  cannot  be  found  anywhere  else 
in    the  world."     Richardson,  Walpole,  Sterne,   Hume, 


4  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

and  Gibbon  breathed  with  delight  the  intellectual  at- 
mosphere of  Paris.  "  Ah  ! "  wrote  Gibbon,  with  a  sigh 
of  regret,  "  if  I  had  been  rich  and  independent  I  should 
have  fixed  my  residence  in  Paris." 

Montaigne,  in  a  passage  that  has  now  become  hack- 
neyed by  reason  of  quotation  in  season  and  out  of  sea- 
son, tells  us  that  the  more  he  saw  of  other  fine  cities, 
the  more  the  beauty  of  Paris  gained  strongly  in  his 
affection:  "  Je  I'aime  tendrement,  jusques  a  ses  vermes 
et  a  ses  taches,"  he  says  (I  love  it  tenderly,  even  to 
its  warts  and  its  stains).  "  I  am  a  Frenchman,'  con- 
tinues Montaigne,  "  only  by  virtue  of  that  great  city: 
great  in  population,  great  in  the  felicity  of  its  situation, 
iDut  above  all  things  great  and  incomparable  in  variety 
and  diversity  of  conveniences,  the  glory  of  France,  and 
one  of  the  noblest  ornaments  of  the  world." 

How  great,  too,  was  the  admiration  of  the  puissant 
emperor,  Charles  V.,  who  declared  that  Rouen  was  the 
greatest  town  in  France,  inasmuch  as  Paris  was  a  world 
in  itself ! 

Still  more  lyric  and  stupendous  was  the  admiration 
of  the  great  churchman  and  diplomatist,  Richard  de 
Bury,  author  of  "  The  Philobiblon,"  who  celebrated  the 
intellectual  charms  of  Paris  in  the  first  half  of  the  four- 
teenth century  in  words  that  we  beg  leave  to  quote,  al- 
though they  are  familiar  to  all  true  book-lovers : 

"  O,  blessed  God  of  gods  in  Zion !  how  great  a  flood 
of  pleasure  delighted  our  heart  as  often  as  we  had  lei- 
sure to  visit  and  sojourn  at  Paris,  the  Paradise  of  the 
world,  where  the  days  always  seemed  to  us  but  few  for 
the  greatness  of  the  love  we  had.  There  are  delightful 
libraries,  fragrant  beyond  stores  of  spices ;  there  are 
green  pleasure-gardens  of  all  kinds  of  volumes.  There 
are  Academic  meadows  shaking  beneath  the  tread  of 
scholars,  lounging-seats  of  Athens,  walks  of  the  Peri- 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS  5 

patetics,  jutting  peaks  of  Parnassus,  and  porches  of  the 
Stoics.  There,  indeed,  did  we  open  out  our  treasures 
and  loosen  our  purse-strings,  and,  scattering  money 
with  a  glad  heart,  purchased  priceless  books  with  dirt 
and  sand." 


II 


A  thousand  years  before  Richard  de  Bury  wrote  his 
quaint  eulogy,  "  O  Beate  Deus  Deorum  in  Syon,"  a 
greater  man  than  he,  the  Emperor  Julian,  had  already 
felt  that  peculiar  charm  of  Paris,  which  is  independent 
of  its  exterior  beauty,  and,  as  it  were,  inherent  in  the 
atmosphere  and  in  the  soul  of  the  city.  In  the  fourth 
century,  Paris,  "  my  dear  town  of  Lutetia,"  as  the  Em- 
peror calls  it,  explaining,  "for  that  is  the  name  which 
the  Gauls  give  to  the  town  of  the  Parisians,"  was  still 
young,  but  already  civilized  and  delightful.  In  his 
curious  literary  composition,  entitled  "  Misopogon,"  ad- 
dressed to  the  inhabitants  of  proud  Antioch,  Julian  de- 
scribes Lutetia  as  being  situated  on  "  a  small  island  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  approached  by  wooden  bridges, 
one  on  each  side.  The  river,"  he  continues,  "  rarely 
swells  or  diminishes ;  as  it  is  in  summer,  so  it  remains 
in  winter.  The  water  is  very  good  to  drink,  being 
pure  and  agreeable  to  look  upon.  The  temperature  of 
the  winter  is  not  very  rigorous,  the  reason  being,  as  the 
people  of  the  country  say,  the  warmth  of  the  ocean, 
which  is  distant  only  nine  hundred  stades,  and  sends 
mild  air  as  far  as  Lutetia."  Julian  then  goes  on  to 
speak  favorably  of  the  vines  that  grow  at  Paris,  and  of 
the  fig-trees,  which  are  cultivated  with  success,  being 
wrapped  up  with  wheat-straw  to  protect  them  against 
the  inclemency  of  the  seasons.     So  we  get  a  glimpse 


6  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

of  those  antique  methods  of  careful  gardening  which 
are  still  followed  around  Paris,  and  which  have  pro- 
duced in  modern  times  such  masterpieces  of  horticul- 
ture as  the  peaches  of  Montreuil,  the  green  pease  of 
Clamart,  and  the  asparagus  of  Argenteuil.  Indeed,  the 
Emperor's  account  gives  us  the  impression  that  the  old 
Parisians  of  the  island  capital  led  an  amiable  and  al- 
most Virgilian  existence,  in  a  mild  climate,  living  sim- 
ply, patriarchally,  without  luxury,  and  almost  without 
pleasures;  for  Julian  adds,  as  if  aiming  his  remarks 
especially  at  the  dissipated  inhabitants  of  Antioch,  that 
at  Paris  there  are  "  no  lascivious  dances  and  no  scan- 
dalous spectacles,"  It  is  gratifying  to  learn  from  this 
imperial  testimony  that  the  traditions  of  the  Moulin 
Rouge,  the  Jardin  de  Paris,  and  the  Cafes-chantants  of 
the  nineteenth  century  are  less  ancient  and  respectable 
than  those  of  Parisian  market-gardening. 

To  endeavor  to  reconstitute  by  an  effort  of  imagina- 
tion the  Paris  of  the  fourth  century  of  our  era  would 
be  vain ;  and  yet,  as  we  walk  along  the  Seine  in  the 
direction  of  Bercy,  we  command  from  the  Pont  de  I'Es- 
tacade  and  the  Quai  Henri  IV.,  looking  south-west- 
ward, a  view  of  admirable  serenity  which  suggests  still 
the  panorama  that  Julian  must  have  enjoyed  from  his 
island  palace.  At  no  other  point  in  Paris  can  we  con- 
template a  greater  immensity  of  river  and  urban  ex- 
panse than  here.  From  the  broad,  paved  wharves,  cov- 
ered with  barrels  and  various  merchandise,  and  lined 
with  barges  and  canal-boats,  the  eye  passes  above  the 
regular  line  of  the  quay,  and  embraces  a  vast  wooded 
landscape  that  sweeps  up  from  the  river  to  the  Mon- 
tague Sainte  Genevieve — a  broad  vista  of  sky  and  verd- 
ure crowned  by  the  domes  of  the  Val  de  Grace,  the 
Pantheon,  and  the  belfry  of  Saint  Etienne  du  Mont. 

On  the  fertile  and  smiling  slope  of  the  Montague 


ARMS    OF    PARIS 


Sainte  Genevieve  were  the  palaces  and  the  military 
establishments  of  the  Gallo- Roman  Emperors.  The 
ground  now  covered  by  the  Luxembourg  was  occupied 
by  a  vast  camp.  On  the  summit  of  the  Montague 
Sainte  Genevieve,  where  the  Pantheon  now  stands,  was 
the  imperial  palace  of  Posthumus,  with  its  dependent 
Thermae,  or  Thermes,  a  fragment  of  which  remains  to 
the  present  day  in  the  garden  of  the  Cluny  Museum. 
This  slope  and  the  plain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river  were  traversed  by  roads  that  were  lined  with 
villas,  and,  when  the  villas  ceased,  with  tombs  after 
the   Roman  fashion.     There  were  aqueducts,  too,  that 


8  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

brought  water  from  Arcueil,  Chaillot,  and  Les  Ternes, 
or  Thermes,  as  the  name  was  doubtless  written  until  it 
became  incomprehensible  when  the  springs  ceased  to 
be  used. 

In  this  Gallo-Roman  Paris,  Julian  spent  three  win- 
ters. He  had  been  sent  to  Gaul  by  his  uncle,  Con- 
stantius,  to  repel  the  barbarians,  and  particularly  the 
Germans.  The  moment  was  near  when  the  invading 
hordes  were  to  be  masters,  and  the  imminence  of  the 
danger  is  shown  by  the  fact  of  Julian  at  first  choosing 
his  winter  quarters  in  Paris  and  on  the  island  itself,  for 
the  sake  of  security  against  attacks  to  which  a  camp 
on  the  main-land  was  exposed.  In  his  military  opera- 
tions, however,  Julian  was  so  successful  that  towards 
the  end  of  his  stay  he  was  able  to  leave  the  palace  and 
garden  on  the  He  de  la  Cite,  and  to  settle  on  the  Mon- 
tague Sainte  Genevieve  in  the  palace  of  Posthumus, 
where  there  was  more  room  for  the  luxury  of  his  wife, 
the  Oriental  princess,  Helen,  who  was  accompanied  by 
a  great  train  of  chamberlains,  eunuchs,  and  slaves  —  a 
luxury,  by-the-way,  which  was  not  to  the  taste  of  Julian, 
whose  thoughts,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  campaigns^ 
dwelt  more  willingly  upon  philosophy  than  upon  war. 

The  winter  that  Julian  spent  in  the  palace  on  the 
Montague  Sainte  Genevieve  was  exceptionally  severe ; 
but,  although  accustomed  from  his  youth  to  the  warm 
climates  of  Greece  and  Syria,  the  Caesar  did  not  com- 
plain. He  even  refused  to  have  his  rooms  heated  with 
those  stoves  which  the  Parisians  were  in  the  habit  of 
using;  he  asked  only  for  a  brasero,  such  as  the  Span- 
iards and  the  Orientals  employ;  and  the  result  was 
that  he  was  one  day  very  nearly  suffocated.  In  the 
"  Misopogon,"  Julian  relates  the  mishap  with  charming 
simplicity. 

He  describes  how  great  blocks  of  ice  floated  down 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS  9 

the  river,  clashing  against  each  other  until  they  finally 
joined  together  and  formed  a  bridge.  "  More  severe 
towards  myself  than  ever,  and  determined  to  endure  all 
kinds  of  privations,"  he  writes,  "  I  would  not  allow  my 
bedchamber  to  be  heated  with  those  stoves  that  are 
ordinarily  used  in  the  country,  although  they  give  only 
a  mild  heat.  In  vain  the  winter  became  harder  and 
the  cold  more  biting,  I  would  have  no  fire  in  my  room ; 
I  consented  only  to  allow  a  few  lighted  coals  to  be 
brought.  Although  a  small  quantity  of  charcoal  was 
used,  nevertheless  the  fire  caused  so  much  steam  to 
come  out  of  the  walls  that  my  head  grew  heavy  and  I 
thought  that  I  should  suffocate.  However,  I  was  car- 
ried out  of  my  room ;  the  doctor  relieved  me  of  the 
feeling  of  oppression ;  I  was  able  to  pass  the  night  in 
light  sleep,  and  the  next  day  resumed  my  work." 

The  doctor  who  so  promptly  saved  Julian  from  in- 
cipient asphyxiation  was  no  ordinary  court  physician, 
but  one  of  the  most  celebrated  men  of  science  of  the 
day,  Oribazius  by  name,  whose  acquaintance  Julian  had 
made  while  at  Pergamus,  and  in  whose  studies  he  took 
the  deepest  interest,  to  such  a  degree  that  he  attached 
him  to  his  person  and  encouraged  him  to  write  a  sort 
of  medical  encyclopaedia,  which  has  come  down  to  our 
own  times.  In  the  preface  to  one  of  his  treaties,  Ori- 
bazius mentions  the  studious  winters  that  he  passed 
in  Paris  with  the  C^sar,  and  intimates  that  he  himself 
was  only  one  of  many  learned  men  whose  conversation 
formed  the  chief  pleasure  of  the  prince.  In  this  im- 
provised Academy  of  the  Caesar's  court  we  may  trace 
the  foreshadowing  of  the  great  academies  and  schools 
that  were  destined  to  glorify  the  Montagne  Sainte 
Genevieve  when  it  became  in  later  years  the  Latin 
Quarter,  and  when  the  Gallo-Roman  town  of  Lutetia 
rose  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  to  the  glory  of  a  modern 


lO  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

Athens.  We  may  affirm  also  that  all  the  talk  of  these 
learned  Hellenes  was  not  exclusively  of  science  and 
philosophy,  but  also  of  that  revival  and  reform  of  pagan- 
ism which  was  Julian's  dream  and  ambition.  In  those 
days  the  Christian  Church  at  Paris,  we  may  be  sure, 
made  but  a  poor  figure  in  comparison  with  that  noble 
assembly  of  educated  Greeks  who  aided  Julian  in  the 
celebration  of  sacrifices  according  to  the  ancient  ritual 
of  magnificent  paganism.  The  altar  of  Christ  re- 
mained with  Bishop  Paul  to  serve  it;  but  at  the  same 
time  the  altar  of  Isis  smoked  with  victims  and  flowed 
with  libations  that  won  for  the  Caesar  the  affection  of 
the  soldiers  and  of  the  people,  Isis  being  the  favorite 
goddess  of  the  Parisians,  and  the  traditional  object  of 
adoration  in  the  primitive  settlement  of  Lutetia. 

Thanks  to  this  affection  and  to  the  popularity  thus 
acquired,  Julian  was  at  the  first  opportunity  proclaimed 
Emperor  in  spite  of  himself.  Constantius  had  sent 
him  to  Gaul  to  fight  the  Germans,  in  the  hope  that  the 
Germans  would  destroy  him.  But  the  delicate  Byzan- 
tine, the  consummate  pupil  of  the  sophists,  the  miystic 
pagan  who  quotes  Plato  when  he  wishes  to  prove  that 
"  man  ought  to  tend  to  raise  himself  to  heaven  whence 
he  comes,"  the  refined  literary  man  who  preferred  the 
poems  of  Homer  to  the  artless  prose  of  the  Gospels, 
showed  himself  to  be  an  ardent  warrior,  and  the  worthy 
maintainer  of  the  conquests  of  the  great  Caesar,  who 
had  subjugated  Gaul  four  centuries  before.  Constan- 
tius endeavored  to  weaken  Julian  by  the  same  methods 
that  Pompey  used  to  diminish  the  power  of  Caesar,  and 
with  the  same  result.  The  legions  no  sooner  compre- 
hended the  manoeuvre  than  they  besieged  Julian  in  his 
palace ;  the  people  of  Paris  joined  the  revolt  with  an 
ardor  that  presaged  the  many  revolutions  of  later  days; 
and  finally  the  gates   of  the  palace  were  forced,  and 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS  II 

Julian  was  obliged  to  allow  himself  to  be  proclaimed 
Emperor.  The  soldiers  enthroned  him  on  a  shield, 
after  the  manner  of  the  barbarian  kings,  and  the  golden 
collar  of  a  centurion  was  placed  upon  his  brow  in  lieu 
of  the  imperial  diadem. 

The  proclamation  of  Julian  as  Emperor  took  place  in 
the  year  a.d.  390.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  denoue- 
ment of  the  grand  drama  of  Roman  decadence ;  but, 
so  far  as  concerns  Gaul,  the  mission  of  Julian  and  its 
unforeseen  conclusion  made  Paris  a  true  capital,  and 
awakened  the  city  to  a  consciousness  of  power,  intelli- 
gence, and  material  splendor  of  life. 


Ill 


Isis,  the  mysterious  and  universal  deity  of  the  an- 
cients, was  the  goddess  of  those  Senones  who  in  the 
ancient  days  descended  from  the  upper  Seine  and  set- 
tled on  the  present  He  de  la  Cite.  With  a  ritual  similar 
to  the  rich  ceremonial  of  the  East,  the  great  goddess 
was  worshipped;  and  in  souvenir  of  Isis  abandoning 
herself  to  the  sea  in  order  to  seek  the  body  of  her  lost 
spouse,  the  sacred  ship,  purified  by  sacrificial  fire,  was 
launched  from  the  sloping  shore  of  the  island,  and  left 
to  the  mercy  of  the  waters,  its  white  sail  swelling  be- 
fore the  perfumed  breeze.  The  goddess  of  the  water 
was  the  natural  divinity  of  the  Lutetians.  Like  that 
of  the  dwellers  upon  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  their  wor- 
ship was  a  form  of  gratitude ;  they  adored  the  goddess 
and  the  river  which  gave  them  greatness  and  pros- 
perity ;  they  adored  the  ship  of  Isis,  which  had  made 
them  masters  of  the  stream  and  opened  to  them  the 
gates  of  the  ocean  and  of  the  future.     Thus  the  skiff 


12  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

of  Isis  became  their  dearest  emblem,  at  once  a  symbol 
of  their  beliefs  and  the  instrument  of  their  fortune — a 
symbol  which  they  imposed  even  upon  their  conquerors, 
for  when  an  emperor,  whether  Posthumus  or  another, 
built  the  great  palace  on  the  Montague  Sainte  Gene- 
vieve, of  which  the  Thermes  formed  a  part,  he  did  not 
forget  to  adorn  it  with  the  sculptured  prows  of  the 
city's  device.  In  the  hall  of  the  Thermes,  which  still 
remains  in  the  garden  of  the  Cluny  Museum,  the  skiff 
of  Isis  may  be  seen,  carved  in  relief  in  the  corners ;  and 
if  we  look  at  the  gaslamps  or  any  other  municipal  be- 
longings in  the  adjoining  Boulevard  Saint  Michel,  we 
shall  see  this  same  skiff  of  Isis  transformed  into  the 
ship  with  swelling  sails  and  straining  oars  that  figures 
on  the  arms  of  Paris  with  the  motto, "  Fluctuat  nee 
mergitur  " — on  a  red  field  a  ship  with  silver  sails  float- 
ing on  a  silver  sea,  surmounted  by  an  azure  band  orna- 
mented with  fleurs-de-lis.  Pagan  Paris  believed  in  Isis ; 
Christian  Paris  continued  to  believe  in  her  even  after 
her  temple  had  been  razed  to  the  ground  to  make  way 
for  the  cathedral  of  Notre  Dame;  for  as  late  as  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIII.  a  statue  of  Isis  was  worshipped 
by  the  old  women  in  the  church  of  Saint  Germain  des 
Pres,  until  one  day  the  Bishop  of  Meaux,  Guillaume 
Bri9onnet,  who  was  at  the  same  time  abbot  of  Saint 
Germain,  caused  the  idol  to  be  broken  in  the  public 
street,  and  a  red  cross  to  be  erected,  in  token  of  wrath 
and  of  purification  (La  Croix  Rouge),  which  has  re- 
mained in  the  street  nomenclature  of  modern  Paris. 

However,  Paris  became  Christianized  in  due  course, 
and  had  its  glorious  martyrs,  of  whom  Saint  Denis 
was  the  greatest.  It  had  also  its  Christian  heroines,  of 
whom  the  purest  and  noblest  was  Genevieve,  the  patron 
saint  of  the  city,  whose  memory  is  still  honored  in  the 
beginning  of  January  with  the  prayers  of  many  pilgrims 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS  1 3 

who  come  to  worship  her  rehcs  in  the  beautiful  church 
of  Saint  Etienne  du  Mont.  It  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  fifth  century  of  our  era  that  Saint  Genevieve  ex- 
ercised her  great  influence  in  saving  Paris.  This  holy 
woman,  who  had  been  consecrated  to  the  service  of 
God  by  Germain,  Bishop  of  Auxerre,  lived  at  Paris,  de- 
voting herself  wholly  to  charity  and  pious  works,  and 
fortifying  her  religion  by  fasting  and  prayer. 

One  day  news  was  brought  that  the  most  terrible  of 
the  barbarians  who  had  yet  threatened  the  empire, 
Attila,  the  Scourge  of  God,  had  crossed  the  Rhine 
and  was  devastating  Gaul  with  his  hordes  of  Huns. 

Now  in  those  days  there  were  living  in  Paris  many 
Jewish  and  Syrian  merchants.  They  had  been  at- 
tracted by  the  presence  of  successive  imperial  courts, 
whether  of  Posthumus,  Julian,  Valentinian,  Gratian,  or 
Maximus,  and  although  at  the  time  of  which  we  are 
speaking  Paris  was  no  longer  the  residence  of  princes, 
these  merchants  were  still  there,  enjoying  the  great 
wealth  that  they  had  amassed.  The  approach  of  the 
terrible  pillager  caused  general  terror,  the  more  so  as 
his  route  from  north  to  south  would  inevitably  bring 
him  to  Paris ;  consequently,  many  thought  only  of 
flight,  and  sought  to  place  their  wealth  and  worldly 
goods  in  more  secure  cities.  Genevieve  endeavored  to 
prevent  this  movement;  she  spoke  to  the  wives  of 
those  who  wished  to  abandon  the  city,  or,  as  the  old 
chronicle  says,  she  called  a  meeting  of  them,  held  up 
for  imitation  the  example  of  Judith  and  Esther,  and 
induced  them  to  fast  and  pray.  She  also  tried  to  per- 
suade the  men  not  to  remove  their  goods  from  Paris, 
telling  them  all  that  she  knew  through  her  corres- 
pondence with  Germain,  of  Auxerre,  who  had  retired 
to  Italy,  about  the  mighty  preparations  of  Aetius,  who 
was  to  join  the   Prankish   army  of  Merovee  in   Gaul, 


14  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

and  thus  stop  the  advance  of  Attila.  At  the  risk  of 
her  hfe,  for  the  men  would  have  stoned  her  as  a  false 
prophetess,  Genevieve  held  out  until  the  end,  and  at 
last  succeeded  in  inspiring  the  Parisians  with  a  little 
courage  and  saving  the  city  from  abandonment.  Paris 
was  not  attacked.  The  approach  of  Aetius  allowed 
Attila  no  time  to  pillage  the  city.  The  Scourge  of 
God  passed  on  directly  to  Orleans,  whence  he  was  re- 
pulsed, and  then  fell  back  upon  the  plains  of  Chalons, 
where  he  was  defeated  in  a  most  memorable  battle. 

Later,  the  Franks  wished  to  take  possession  of  Paris 
and  its  famous  riches,  but  the  Parisians  defended  them- 
selves strenuously,  not  for  months  only  but  for  years^ 
always  under  the  guidance  and  counsel  of  Genevieve. 
At  last  it  made  the  saint's  heart  bleed  to  see  the  peo- 
ple dying  of  hunger,  for,  as  the  legend  says,  Paris  was 
then  nothing  but  a  great  sepulchre  where  you  saw 
only  pale  shadows  and  horrible  skeletons.  So  Gene- 
vieve left  by  night  with  a  boatman  and  began  her 
journey  up  the  Seine,  and  the  Prankish  sentinels  al- 
lowed her  to  pass  unmolested.  Thus  she  reached 
Champagne,  where  the  great  fame  of  her  piety  had  pre- 
ceded her,  and  she  was  everywhere  received  with  honor 
and  affection,  more  particularly  at  Arcis-sur-Aube  and 
at  Troyes.  Finally,  eleven  great  barges  were  laden 
with  bread  and  flour,  and  left  to  float  down  the  river 
under  the  protection  of  God  and  of  the  prayers  of 
Saint  Genevieve,  and  just  at  the  most  dangerous  spot, 
where  the  Prankish  sentinels  had  to  be  passed,  a  violent 
storm  arose  and  drove  them  within  their  tents,  so  that 
the  flotilla  of  provisions  was  able  to  approach  the  city 
without  let  or  hinderance.  Thus  the  indefatigable  zeal 
of  the  saint  saved  Paris  from  starvation,  and  obliged  the 
Franks  to  be  satisfied  with  an  honorable  capitulation. 

During  the  entire  period  of  the  great  invasion,  from 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS  1 5 

Attila  to  Clovis,  the  history  of  Paris  is  personified  in 
Saint  Genevieve,  and  resumed  in  her  legend,  much 
obscured,  it  is  true,  by  puerile  miracle,  but  nevertheless 
imposing  and  edifying.  Republican  Paris  has  secular- 
ized the  church  of  the  Pantheon,  which  was  placed 
under  the  patronage  of  Saint  Genevieve  ;  but  the  grand 
frescos  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes  remain  the  adornment 
and  glory  of  its  walls,  and  relate  with  the  mute  elo- 
quence of  the  painter's  art  the  chief  episodes  of  the 
career  of  this  pious  heroine.  Modern  unbelief  has 
diminished  the  number  of  the  pilgrims  who  attend 
yearly  the  neuvaine,  or  nine  days'  celebration,  of  the 
saint ;  but  the  throng  is  still  so  great  that  it  occasions 
a  special  fair  for  the  sale  of  articles  of  piety,  held  in 
front  of  the  Pantheon  during  the  first  fortnight  in 
January.  From  the  broad  silvery  Seine  we  see  the 
slope  that  bears  her  name,  the  Montague  Sainte  Gene- 
vieve ;  and,  as  we  watch  the  full  stream  gliding  with  its 
burden  of  barges  and  swift  steamboats,  we  remember 
the  touching  vision  of  the  saint  kneeling  on  the  deck 
of  the  boat  of  a  loyal  waterman  of  ancient  Lutetia,  and 
guiding  with  her  prayers  alone  the  convoy  of  provisions 
that  was  to  save  Paris  from  the  pillage  of  the  Franks. 


THE  BANKS  OF  THE  SEINE 


IN  the  view  depicted  in  our  engraving  the  artist  has 
sought  a  high  stand-point  in  order  to  embrace  a 
wide  horizon.  From  one  of  the  upper  windows  of  the 
Pavilion  de  Flore  he  has  looked  down  upon  Paris,  as  it 
were,  from  a  hill-side ;  and,  while  a  spring  cloud  was 
sprinkling  the  fresh  verdure,  he  has  noted  the  grand 
panorama  of  the  Seine  and  its  bridges,  the  towers  of 
the  Conciergerie,  the  dome  of  the  tribunal  of  Commerce, 
the  spire  of  the  Sainte  Chapelle,  the  towers  of  Notre 
Dame,  the  Palace  of  the  Institute,  the  Mint  and  its 
smoking  chimney;  in  the  distance  the  Montague  Sainte 
Genevieve  with  the  dome  of  the  Pantheon ;  and  in  the 
foreground  the  Pont  du  Carrousel,  the  river  with  its 
trains  of  barges,  and  the  Port  of  Saint  Nicolas  du 
Louvre  nestling  beneath  the  trees,  with  the  London 
steamer  moored  to  the  quay- side.  No  one  who  has 
visited  Paris  can  forget  the  incomparable  group  of 
palaces  which  the  eye  embraces  from  this  Pont  du 
Carrousel,  with  the  grand  silhouette  of  Notre  Dame  in 
the  centre,  and,  to  the  left,  the  roofs  and  belfry  of  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  the  old  Gothic  tower  of  Saint  Jacques, 
the  monumental  regularity  of  the  quays  shaded  with 
fine  trees,  and  the  great  palace  of  the  Louvre,  whose 
interminable  fa9ades  and  admirable  galleries  resume 
the   history  of  the  glory  and  genius   of  France  from 


20  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

the  time  of  Philip  Augustus,  and  the  history  of  French 
architecture  since  the  days  of  Fran9ois  I. 

In  the  year  1529  Pierre  Lescot,  the  architect,  and 
Jean  Goujon,  the  sculptor,  began  the  actual  palace,  con- 
ceiving and  executing  it  with  an  abundance  of  imagina- 
tion, a  sureness  of  taste,  a  delicate  perfection  of  sym- 
metry, and  a  richness  and  harmony  of  ornament  that 
make  it  a  most  complete  expression  of  the  style  of  the 
French  Renaissance.  To  the  Louvre  of  Pierre  Lescot 
innumerable  additions  have  been  made  at  various  epochs 
in  various  styles.  Henri  IV.  built  the  Pavilion  de  Flore, 
but  it  was  reserved  for  Carpeaux  in  our  own  days  to 
complete  its  decoration  with  a  high-relief  group  that  is 
one  of  the  purest  masterpieces  of  modern  art.  Cath- 
erine de  Medicis  built  the  wing  where  the  antique 
sculpture  is  now  placed.  Louis  XIII.  and  his  architect 
completed  the  palace  around  the  great  court-yard  of 
the  Louvre.  Louis  XIV.  built  the  Galerie  d'Apollon. 
Marie  de  Medicis  and  Anne  of  Austria  in  turn  con- 
tributed to  the  sumptuous  decoration  of  their  dwelling. 
To  Louis  XIV.  and  to  Claude  Perrault,  a  doctor  by 
profession,  but  a  civil  engineer  by  taste,  the  Louvre  is 
indebted  for  its  grand  colonnade,  one  of  the  finest 
monuments  of  Paris.  Napoleon  I.  added  largely  to 
the  splendor  of  the  Louvre;  and  Napoleon  III.  finally 
consummated  the  work  by  joining  the  palace  of  the 
Louvre  to  that  of  the  Tuileries,  on  the  side  both  of  the 
river  and  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  thus  completing  the 
symmetrical  plan  of  this  incomparable  series  of  monu- 
ments. The  Tuileries,  alas !  has  disappeared,  but  the 
aspect  of  the  Louvre  only  gains  in  immensity  and 
grandeur  by  the  clearing  of  the  ground  between  the 
two  extreme  pavilions,  which  has  left  an  uninterrupted 
sweep  of  broad  promenade,  planted  with  gardens  and 
avenues  of  trees,  from  the  Place  du  Carrousel  and  the 


THE  LOUVRE  FROM  PONT  NEUF 


Jardin  des  Tuileries  up  the  Champs-Elysees  to  the  Arc 
de  Triomphe. 

From  the  noble  lines  of  the  Louvre,  and  from  its 
magnificent  galleries  following  majestically  the  shady 
avenue  of  the  quay,  the  eye  wanders  across  the  river, 
and  lingers  for  a  moment  on  the  cupola  and  the  classic 
fa9ade  of  the  Institut  de  France,  built  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  in  accordance  with  the  testament  of 
Cardinal  Mazarin,  and  occupied  by  the  five  Academies 
that  form  the  Institute  only  since  the  year  1806.  Then 
we  look  up  the  stream  and  enjoy  that  unique  view  of 
Notre  Dame  and  the  He  de  la  Cite,  which  at  all  mo- 
ments of  the  day  and  of  the  night  is  one  of  the  marvels 
of  Paris,  a  vision  of  vast  splendor  which  the  changing 
hour  bathes  in  the  mystery  of  changing  hues,  now  sil- 
very gray,  now  violet,  now  rose,  now  blue ;  in  the  day- 
time brilliant  with  the  gayety  of  sunshine ;  at  night  a 
black  mass  of  imposing  silhouettes  standing  out  darkly 
against  the  starry  sky. 


24 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


The  He  de  la  Cite  is  gradually  being  transformed 
into  a  sort  of  acropolis,  or  sacred  enclosure,  devoted  to 
great  public  monuments.  At  one  end  of  the  island, 
towards  the  Pont  Neuf  and  the  statue  of  Henri  IV., 
there  remains  a  picturesque  block  of  old  houses,  whose 


gables   and  chim- 
neys play  an  import- 
ant role  in  the  famous 
view  from  the  brid2:e. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  isl- 
and, between  Notre  Dame 
and  the  river  on  the  north  side, 
there    are    four  narrow  streets,  the   Rues   du   Cloitre, 
des  Chantres,  Chanoinesse,  and  des  Marmousets,  where 


LA    SAINTE    CHAPELLE 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE  25 

the  buildings  are  of  ancient  date,  having  formerly  been 
exclusively  reserved  for  the  dwellings  of  the  canons  of 
the  cathedral.  But  with  these  exceptions,  there  remains 
nothing  of  the  primitive  aspect  of  the  medieval  city  of 
Paris  with  its  many  churches,  hotels,  and  thickly  clus- 
tered houses.  Far  from  being  crowded,  the  modern  He 
de  la  Cite  tends  to  look  bare  and  deserted ;  its  immense 
and  severe  monuments,  the  Palais  de  Justice,  the  Tri- 
bunal of  Commerce,  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  the  bar- 
racks, and  the  great  hospital  of  the  Hotel  Dieu,  are 
surrounded  by  broad  and  open  spaces ;  the  Sainte 
Chapelle  alone,  instead  of  being  disengaged  from  ob- 
trusive neighbors,  like  the  other  historical  monuments 
of  Paris,  has  been  entirely  hidden  from  view,  with  the 
exception  of  the  summit  of  its  roof  and  its  gracile  spire, 
by  the  agglomeration  of  buildings  of  all  periods  which 
form  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  resume  the  develop- 
ment of  French  architecture  from  the  time  of  Saint 
Louis  to  that  of  Napoleon  III. 

Notre  Dame,  on  the  other  hand,  has  been  disengaged 
on  all  sides ;  each  fagade  is  freely  presented,  and  the 
front,  with  its  grand  portal  and  towers,  can  be  viewed 
as  a  whole  both  from  near  and  from  afar,  thanks  to  the 
great  open  space  of  the  parvis  and  the  extended  per- 
spective of  the  quays  and  river.  In  the  same  way  the 
apsis  may  be  seen  in  its  complete  development  from 
the  charming  garden  that  occupies  the  site  of  the  now 
demolished  archbishop's  palace.  Admirably  restored 
by  MM.  Viollet-le-Duc  and  Lassus  in  the  middle  of 
the  present  century,  Notre  Dame  is  certainly  the  most 
perfect  of  French  ogival  churches,  and  a  model  of  the 
ecclesiastical  architecture  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
Nevertheless,  one  doubts  whether  it  has  gained  by  be- 
ing isolated,  and  whether  it  has  not  lost  something  of 
its  imposing  and  severe  character  by  being  cleared  of 


26  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

all  the  parasitical  constructions,  the  narrow  streets,  the 
humble  dwellings,  and  quaint  old  shops  and  stalls  that 
sought  the  shelter  of  its  shadow  in  former  times.  Cer- 
tainly this  isolation  was  not  anticipated  by  the  archi- 
tects who  built  the  Gothic  cathedrals  with  their  forests 
of  flying  buttresses,  their  varied  silhouettes,  and  the 
diversity  of  their  ornamentation,  always  in  the  close 
and  crowded  neighborhood  of  houses,  as  if  to  invite 
the  intimacy  of  the  population.  For,  apart  from  all 
political  considerations,  and  examined  purely  from  the 
moral,  the  sentimental,  and  the  educational  points  of 
view,  the  Gothic  cathedral  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries  was  a  popular  encyclopaedia  of  religion, 
knowledge,  and  general  edification.  As  it  was  re- 
corded in  the  proceedings  of  the  second  council  of 
Nicsea,  "  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  brings  all  our  senses 
into  play  in  order  to  guide  us  to  penitence  and  to  the 
observation  of  the  commandments  of  God  ;  it  endeavors 
to  lead  us  not  only  by  the  hearing  but  by  the  sight,  in 
the  desire  that  it  has  to  perfect  our  morals."  Hence 
the  wealth  of  statues,  bass-reliefs,  carvings,  paintings,  and 
symbolic  ornaments  that  decorate  the  ancient  churches 
of  Europe.  Hence  the  prodigious  iconography  of  the 
fa9ade  of  Notre  Dame,  resuming  the  whole  Christian 
epopee  and  the  religious  ideal  of  the  Middle  Ages  in 
all  its  naivete  and  terror.  On  the  tympanum  of  the 
great  door,  in  the  centre,  Christ  is  represented  with  His 
feet  on  the  lion  and  the  dragon ;  and  around  the 
Saviour  are  figured  the  twelve  apostles,  with  symbols 
of  their  martyrdom  or  their  distinctive  qualities ;  the 
twelve  virtues  and  the  twelve  vices;  the  wise  and  the 
foolish  virgins ;  and,  completing  the  ensemble,  the 
graphic  scene  of  the  last  judgment:  two  angels  blow 
trumpets;  the  dead  rise  from  their  graves;  kings, 
knights,  peasants,  and  noble  dames  all  answer  this  su- 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE 


27 


preme  call;  Saint  Michael  holds  the  scales  wherewith 
to  weigh  the  souls ;  to  the  right,  the  elect,  clad  in  long 
robes  and  wearing  crowns,  see  the  heavens  open  to 
them ;  to  the  left,  the  demons  drag  away  the  unright- 
eous strung  along  a  chain  —  bishops,  kings,  knights, 
clerks,  laymen,  and  women,  all  pell-mell,  with  terror 
and  anguish  depicted  on  their  faces.  In  the  upper 
part  of  the  tympanum  of  the  great  portal  Christ  seated, 
with  his  feet  on  the  globe,  shows  His  wounded  body ; 
two  angels  standing,  one  on  each  side,  hold  in  their 
hands  the  instruments  of  the  passion ;  behind  the  an- 
gels  the  Virgin  and  Saint  John  kneel  and  intercede  for 
mankind ;  while  the  six  mouldings  that  form  the  archi- 


NOTRE    DAME— SUNSET    EFFECT 


28  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

volt  and  frame  the  composition  are  sculptured  with  chap- 
lets  of  angels,  prophets,  doctors,  martyrs,  and  virgins. 
The  northern  and  the  southern  doors  are  also  decorated 
with  admirable  statues  and  high-reliefs.  Then  between 
the  doors  are  colossal  statues  of  Saint  Denis  and  Saint 
Etienne,  and  of  the  Church  and  of  the  Synagogue, 
while  over  the  arches  are  the  twenty -four  kings  of 
Judah,  and  in  the  gallery  above  isolated  statues  of 
Adam  and  Eve,  and  in  the  centre  the  Virgin  accom- 
panied by  two  angels. 

In  contrast  with  the  serene  spirituality  of  this  ma- 
jestic fa9ade,  at  one  time  gorgeous  with  color  and  gild- 
ing, we  have  only  to  look  upward  to  the  roof  and  the 
towers  in  order  to  see  a  legion  of  monsters  of  stone, 
beasts,  chimaeras,  and  birds,  and  strange  combinations 
of  human  and  animal  forms,  prodigies  of  abnormal  crea- 
tion, such  as  Saint  John  saw  in  the  hallucinations  of  Pat- 
mos.  Such  are  those  grotesque  beings  that  stand  with 
their  fore-paws  on  the  parapet  of  the  towers  of  Notre 
Dame,  and  look  down  with  astonishment  at  the  city 
below,  while  the  stone  birds  open  their  beaks  as  if  to 
"utter  stupid  cries,  and  fix  their  fierce  eyes  on  some  prey 
that  they  can  never  seize,  for  all  these  monsters  are 
captives  in  the  tower,  built  into  the  very  stones  when 
they  are  not  carved  out  of  them,  like  that  quaint  devil 
at  our  corner  of  the  tower,  who  rests  his  head  lazily  on 
his  two  hands,  and  lolls  his  tongue  out  at  the  people  in 
the  street.  The  towers  and  the  whole  roof  of  Notre 
Dame  bristle  with  innumerable  monsters  that  seem,  as 
it  were,  imprisoned  in  these  lofty  solitudes  from  which 
they  peep  out  wistfully  here  and  there.  What  are  they.^ 
What  is  their  symbolism  ?     How  did  they  come  there  ? 

In  the  Middle  Ages  the  creation  was  conceived  as  a 
grand  concert,  in  which  every  being  had  its  function. 
Man  was  the  centre  of  all  things  on  earth,  and  every- 


MONSTER    OF    NOTRE    DAME 


thing  was  held  to  abut  in  man,  who  was  himself  re- 
sponsible to  God  for  all  things  created  for  him.  This 
idea  of  the  universe  explains  the  encyclopcedic  efforts, 
and  the  seeking  after  unity,  order,  and  classification, 
wdiich  particularly  characterized  the  intellectual  move- 
ment of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries.  It  ex- 
plains, too,  the  quaint  figures  of  the  mediceval  gargoyles, 
and  of  those  monsters  that  lean  over  the  parapets  of 


30  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  some  of  them  being  origi- 
nals, and  others  most  faithful  and  characteristic  recon- 
stitutions  made  with  infinite  care  by  VioUet-le-Duc. 
In  the  eleventh,  twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries  there 
was  a  complete  science  of  monsters ;  from  the  descrip- 
tions of  Pliny  and  i^lian  the  monks  composed  collec- 
tions of  real  and  fantastic  animals,  and  expounded  the 
symbolic  sense  of  each  in  books  that  were  called  Besti- 
aries or  Bestiaria ;  and,  as  we  read  in  a  Picard  Bestiary 
existing  in  manuscript  in  the  library  of  the  Arsenal, 
"  the  reason  why  they  are  so  called  is  because  they 
treat  of  the  nature  of  beasts ;  for  all  the  creatures  that 
God  created  on  the  earth  he  created  for  man's  sake, 
that  he  might  take  in  them  example  of  faith  and  belief." 

So  the  swarms  of  animals  and  monsters  carved  on 
the  churches  and  cathedrals  were  intended  to  remind 
us  of  the  Christian  virtues  that  we  ought  to  practise 
and  of  the  vices  that  we  ought  to  avoid.  On  the  fa- 
9ades  and  portals  were  the  noble  scenes  of  Christian 
faith,  hope,  and  example ;  on  the  roof,  as  if  condemned 
to  perpetual  exorcism  by  the  sonorous  waves  that  issued 
from  the  bell-towers,  the  demons  were  impaled  in  stone 
effigies,  and  the  vices  were  pilloried  along  the  eaves 
and  forced  to  do  service  as  water-spouts. 

All  this  imagery,  sacred  and  grotesque,  edifying  and 
admonitory,  was  intended  to  be  the  daily  guide  of  citi- 
zens, the  open  book  that  all  could  read  as  they  passed. 
Comins:  alons:  the  narrow  streets  that  radiated  from  the 
cathedral,  the  Parisians  of  old  caught  sight  of  a  tower, 
of  a  sculptured  door,  of  an  arched  buttress  or  of  a 
quaint  gargoyle,  and  thus  the  smallest  details  were  pre- 
sented as  if  in  a  frame,  and  by  their  isolation  acquired 
a  value  and  a  power  of  action  that  they  have  perhaps 
lost,  now  that  the  vast  monument  is  thrust  upon  the 
view  in  its  entirety  and  with  all   the  profusion  of  its 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE  3 1 

symbolism,  which  remains  mere  confusion  until  system- 
atic and  reasoned  observation  has  discovered  the  key 
to  the  labyrinth  of  storied  stone.  However,  to  regret 
the  vanished  picturesqueness  of  the  old  surroundings 
of  Notre  Dame  is  useless ;  the  spirit  of  the  past  has 
gone  the  way  of  past  things ;  the  cathedral  has  become 
an  object  in  the  museum  of  the  world's  marvels,  and  a 
subject  of  vague  wonderment  for  tourists ;  but  at  the 
same  time  it  remains  a  theme  for  the  reveries  of  mystic 
dreamers,  and  a  joy  for  all  who  appreciate  the  beauty 
of  splendid  architecture,  closing  the  perspectives  of 
river  and  tree-lined  quays.  Notre  Dame  is  the  purest 
jewel  of  the  many  fair  monuments  that  adorn  the  banks 
of  the  Seine,  "  the  first  of  our  rivers,"  as  Michelet  calls 
it,  "  the  most  civilizable  and  the  most  perfectible." 


II 


The  entrance  to  Venice  by  the  Grand  Canal  is  fa- 
mous among  the  great  sights  of  the  world.  If  one 
entered  Paris  by  the  Seine  and  landed  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  the  impression  received  would  perhaps  be  as 
striking  as  that  produced  by  the  antique  palaces  of  the 
city  of  gondolas,  and  certainly  more  various. 

From  afar  the  position  of  the  capital  is  announced 
by  the  Eiffel  Tower.  At  the  fortifications  the  city  as- 
serts itself  by  the  great  viaduct  of  the  circular  railway 
that  crosses  the  river  at  the  Point  du  Jour,  the  ex- 
tremity of  Paris,  a  centre  of  cheap  popular  pleasures, 
and  the  terminus  of  the  city  steamboats.  Along  the 
bank  there  are  cafes-concerts,  shooting-galleries,  wooden 
horses,  peep -shows,  £'iii7i£-ue^^es,  and  restaurants,  where 
the   populace   delights  to  eat  fried  gudgeons    and  to 


32 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


drink  the  sour  wine  of  Suresnes,  with  the  accompani- 
ment of  blatant  barrel-organs  and  ambulant  musicians. 
The  point  of  view  is  vulgar,  but  the  panorama  as  we 
ascend  the  stream  is  imposing.  On  the  left  is  the 
amphitheatre  of  the  Trocadero,  with  its  towers  and 
colonnades,  its  terraced  gardens,  its  fountains  and  cas- 


POINT  DU  JOUR  AND 
EIFFEL    TOWER 


cades,  a  souvenir  of  the  Universal  Exhibition  of  1878. 
In  the  middle  of  the  river,  on  the  point  of  an  island,  is 
the  familiar  silhouette  of  Bartholdi's  "  Statue  of  Liberty 
Enlightening  the  World,"  a  symbol  of  international  sym- 
pathy if  not,  perhaps,  a  masterpiece  of  art.  On  the 
right  rise  the  stupendous  iron  tower  and  the  glistening 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE  33 

domes  of  the  buildings  of  the  Universal  Exhibition  of 
1889.  In  the  background  extends  the  vague  horizon 
of  the  immense  city :  of  modern  Paris,  the  outcome  of 
the  Revolution  of  1 789 ;  of  democratic  Paris,  which  owes 
its  supremacy  to  the  great  14th  of  July.  Successively 
Gaulish,  Roman,  Carlovingian,  feudal,  monarchical,  and 
revolutionary,  Paris  has  ascended  from  darkness  to 
light,  from  unconsciousness  to  consciousness,  from  serv- 
itude to  liberty,  from  despotism  to  democracy. 

"  Rome  has  more  majesty,"  wrote  Victor  Hugo, 
"'Treves  has  more  antiquity,  Venice  has  more  beauty, 
Naples  has  more  grace,  London  has  more  wealth. 
What,  then,  has  Paris  .f^     The  Revolution. 

"  Paris  is  the  first  town  on  which,  at  a  given  day,  the 
history  of  the  world  turned. 

"  Palermo  has  Etna,  Paris  has  thought.  Constantino- 
pie  is  nearer  to  the  sun,  Paris  is  nearer  to  civilization. 
Athens  built  the  Parthenon,  but  Paris  demolished  the 
Bastille." 

All  along  the  river  the  silhouette  of  the  Eiffel  Tower, 
that  monstrous  plaything  of  humanity,  that  gigantic 
point  of  exclamation  which  progress  set  up  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  World's  Fair  in  the  centennial  year  of 
liberty,  will  pursue  us.  At  each  step  we  turn  to  it  as  a 
standard  or  a  contrast  as  we  advance  between  rows  of 
palaces  and  of  quays  lined  with  luxuriant  trees ;  past 
the  modest  o-lass  o-alleries  of  the  Palais  de  I'lndustrie 
which  seemed  so  gorgeous  when  the  World's  Fair  found 
sufHcient  room  in  them  in  1867;  past  the  Esplanade 
des  Invalides  and  the  dome  that  carries  us  back  to 
Louis  XIV.;  past  the  embassies  and  ministries  on  the 
Quai  d'Orsay;  past  the  classic  temple  where  the  depu- 
ties meet  to  discuss  and  to  make  laws ;  past  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde,  which  used  to  be  called  the  Place 
Louis  XV.,  until  one  day  it  was  called  Place  de  la  Re- 


34  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

volution,  and,  in  1795,  Place  de  la  Concorde,  after  it  had 
been  stained  with  the  blood  of  Louis  XVI.,  of  Marie 
Antoinette,  Charlotte  Corday,  Anacharsis  Clootz,  Dan- 
ton,  Camille  Desmoulins,  and  how  many  others  !  Al- 
most every  inch  of  Paris  is  historic  ground,  and  it 
needs  but  an  ordinary  memory  to  people  the  streets 
with  illustrious  phantoms. 

Beyond  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  we  pass  between 
the  vast  o-arden  of  the  Tuileries  and  the  ruins  of  the 
Cour  des  Comptes.  The  former  reminds  us  of  the 
Empire,  the  latter  of  the  Commune.  Then  we  pass 
the  Louvre  and  the  Quai  Voltaire,  dear  to  book-lovers, 
and  where  the  parapets  are  fringed  with  boxes  of  books 
and  pamphlets  that  invite  the  passer-by  to  hunt  if  haply 
he  may  find  some  rare  neglected  treasure,  some  pearl 
lost  in  the  rubbish-heap.  Here  we  are  in  the  heart  of 
Paris,  and  the  cradle  of  the  city  is  before  our  eyes :  the 
He  de  la  Cite,  with  Notre  Dame  and  the  Sainte 
Chapelle ;  the  crowded  bridges;  the  palaces  of  learning 
and  of  pleasure — the  Palais  de  I'Listitut,  the  Ecole  des 
Beaux  Arts ;  the  Mint,  the  Church  of  Saint  Germain 
I'Auxerrois,  the  theatre,  and  the  Place  du  Chatelet ;  the 
Conciergerie,  with  its  pointed  towers,  the  ancient  Gothic 
tower  of  Saint  Jacques,  and  at  last  the  elegant  silhou- 
ette of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,with  its  innumerable  statues 
of  eminent  citizens  on  the  fa9ade,  and  its  gilded  men 
of  arms  guarding  the  belfry  and  the  roof.  In  the  cen- 
tre of  the  river  fa9ade  of  the  municipal  palace  stands 
the  bronze  statue  of  Etienne  Marcel,  the  Prevot  des 
Marchands,  who  plays  so  important  a  role  in  the  grave 
events  of  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  al- 
most succeeded  in  advancing  the  date  of  the  Revolu- 
tion of  1789  by  four  centuries. 

Etienne  Marcel  is  one  of  those  great  figures  of  Pari- 
sian  history  that  have  helped  the  city  to  become  the 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE 


35 


capital.  It  is  he  who  led  the  movement  that  trans- 
ported the  parloir  aux  botirgeois,  or  city  hall,  from  the 
Montamie  Sainte  Genevieve  to  the  Place  de  Greve, 
where  it  still  stands.  The  bourgeois  had  wished  for 
years  to  have  the  right  of  meeting  in  a  hall  near  their 
quarter,  near  to  the  streets  where  they  had  their  looms, 
their  work-shops,  and  their  offices.  The  kings  refused, 
for  if  the  chiefs  of  the  guilds  and  the  provosts  of  the 
merchants  were  allowed  to  meet  on  the  Place  de  Greve 
it  would  be  as  if  the  populace  had  its  Louvre  by  the 
side  of  and  in  rivalry  with  the  Louvre  of  the  crown. 
In  1357,  when  the  King  was  unsuccessful  in  battle,  al- 
though the  bourgeois  had  given  him  plenty  of  money, 
the  mob  became  master  of  Paris,  took  some  practical 
lessons  in  the  art  of  revolution,  conquered  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  on  the  Place  de  Greve,  and  carried  Etienne  Mar- 
cel there  in  triumph. 

At  the  States-General,  in  1355,  Etienne  Marcel,  the 
spokesman  of  the  third  estate  and  of  the  loyal  towns, 
declared  that  they  were  all  ready  to  live  and  die  with 
the  King  provided  only  the  King  would  live  better,  and 
allow  the  bouroreois  to  have  a  hand  in  arrans^ino:  his 
life  for   him.     "  Requerons  de  parler  ensemble  et  de 


QUAI    DE    LA    RAPEE 


36  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

nous  reunir  "  (we  claim  to  meet  and  to  speak  together), 
said  Marcel,  humbly.  "  And  then  the  chancellor,"  adds 
Froissart,  "  said :  '  We  grant  the  claim  '  "  (lors  le  chan- 
celier  dit:  Nous  I'octroyons). 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  monarchy  and 
the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Paris ;  and  when  a  little 
later  King  John  was  conquered  and  captured  at  Poi- 
tiers, and  France  was  left  without  army,  without  King, 
and  with  a  young  prince  of  nineteen  summers,  the  Dau- 
phin Charles,  for  only  guide  and  sovereign,  Paris,  with 
its  provost  of  the  merchants,  took  the  initiative  of  gov- 
ernment. 

The  revolution  of  Etienne  Marcel  was  the  greatest 
effort  that  Paris  ever  made  as  capital  and  heart  of 
France,  greater  even  than  the  effort  of  1789,  for  then 
Paris  had  the  sympathies  of  all  France,  whereas  under 
Etienne  Marcel,  Paris  acted  almost  alone  for  the  sake 
of  France.  The  aim  of  this  revolution  was  noble  and 
just,  but  when  the  victory  was  nearly  won  it  was  spoiled 
by  excesses  and  crimes.  The  spirit  of  imprudence  and 
error  blinded  Etienne  Marcel,  and  brought  him  to  a 
violent  and  ignominious  end,  and  all  that  the  people 
of  Paris  remembered  of  the  revolutionary  days  of  the 
fourteenth  century  was  the  taste  for  blood  and  the  ap- 
petite for  pillage.  Since  Etienne  Marcel's  time  Paris 
has  been  a  city  of  intermittent  revolutions ;  from  the 
rival  factions  of  Armagnac  and  Bourgogne  to  the  mas^ 
sacre  of  the  night  of  Saint  Barthelemy,  when  the  Seine 
was  stained  with  blood  as  far  as  Rouen ;  from  the  riots 
of  La  Ligue  and  La  Fronde  to  the  great  riot  which 
ended  in  the  capture  and  destruction  of  the  Bastille ; 
from  the  Commune  of  1793  to  the  Commune  of  187 1 
Paris  has  always  been  the  leader  and  initiator  of  the 
national  disorders  as  well  as  of  the  national  life,  of  the 
noble  movements  as  well  as  of  the  most  pernicious  and 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE  37 

detestable  excesses.  And  yet,  as  the  calm  and  perspica- 
cious Vauban  said,  Paris  is  to  France  what  the  head  is 
to  the  human  bodv.  "  It  is  the  true  heart  of  the  kins^- 
dom,  the  common  mother  of  France,  by  whom  all  the 
people  of  their  great  state  subsist,  and  with  whom  this 
kingdom  could  not  dispense  without  declining  consid- 
erably." 

From  Notre  Dame  to  the  Eiffel  Tower  the  journey 
of  civilization  has  been  great  and  glorious.  From  the 
Bastille  Column  to  the  new  Hotel  de  Ville  we  see 
what  the  permanent  will  of  Paris  can  do.  At  first, 
Paris  was  clustered  around  Notre  Dame  on  the  He  de 
la  Cite.  Under  Philip  Augustus  the  surface  of  the 
city  covered  a  thousand  acres,  and  its  inhabitants  num- 
bered 100,000  souls.  Under  Louis  XIV.  the  popula- 
tion reached  550,000.  In  the  eighteenth  century  Paris, 
with  650,000  inhabitants,  made  the  Revolution,  de- 
stroyed the  Bastille,  and  began  to  pull  the  great  tocsin, 
to  whose  sounds  the  world  is  still  listening.  Only 
nowadays  Paris  has  nearly  two  and  a  half  millions  of 
inhabitants  to  pull  the  bell-rope,  and  the  sound  is  much 
mightier  than  it  was  since  the  tocsin  has  become  pure- 
ly a  clangor  of  peace,  industry,  and  genius. 


Ill 


La  plaine  est  imre,  la  riviere  est  nourrice.  In  the  to- 
pographical predestination  of  Paris  to  be  the  capital  of 
France,  the  elements  of  river  and  plain  have  been  ail- 
important.  The  plain  has  been  the  producer  of  riches, 
and  the  river  the  carrier  that  has  made  them  produc- 
tive. When  we  approach  Paris  from  the  side  of  the 
Loire  we  cross  the  fertile  plains   of  La  Beauce,  the 


38  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

great  granary;  on  the  Burgundy  side  the  hills  and 
slopes  are  covered  with  vineyards ;  in  the  fat  pastures 
of  Normandy  may  be  seen  countless  herds  of  cattle ; 
on  the  north,  the  south,  the  east,  and  the  west  the  capi- 
tal is  surrounded  by  zones  of  forests,  the  forests  of  Or- 
leans, Rambouillet,  Versailles,  Saint- Germain,  Marly, 
Montmorency,  Bondy,  Chantilly,  Compiegne,  Villers- 
Cotterets,  Senart,  Fontainebleau,  without  counting  the 
reserves  of  La  Nievre ;  in  the  centre  of  the  valley  of 
the  Seine  we  find  stone  at  Montrouge,  plaster  at  Mont- 
martre,  bricks  at  Vaugirard  and  paving-stones  at  Fon- 
tainebleau. Thus  nature  has  provided  all  that  is 
necessary  for  building  a  capital  and  nourishing  its  popu- 
lation, and  the  long  collaboration  of  nature  and  man 
has  produced  that  mighty  city,  the  monster  and  the 
masterpiece,  Paris,  the  pivot  on  which  the  history  of 
modern  humanity  has  turned. 

The  origin  of  the  wealth  and  glory  of  Paris  is  the 
Seine.  The  first  trade  of  the  primitive  inhabitants  of 
Lutetia  was  that  of  watermen.  Their  future  and  their 
whole  fortune  lay  in  the  river  and  its  navigation.  With 
the  progress  of  the  city  the  navigation  has  increased 
until,  at  the  present  day,  Paris  is  the  fourth  in  import- 
ance of  all  the  ports  of  France,  coming  after  Marseilles, 
Bordeaux,  and  Havre,  The  arms  of  Paris,  souvenir  of 
Isis  and  of  the  ancient  industry  of  the  Lutetians,  thus 
remain  as  significant  as  ever,  and  there  is  even  a  pros- 
pect that  they  may  acquire  greater  fulness  of  meaning 
in  the  future,  for  the  dream  of  Paris  is  to  become  a  sea- 
port by  means  of  the  canalization  of  the  Seine  and  the 
construction-  of  lateral  ship-canals  between  the  capital 
and  Rouen. 

The  average  visitor  to  Paris  rarely  realizes  the  im- 
portance of  the  Seine  as  a  commercial  route,  and  un- 
less he  has  the  blessed  gift  oi  flaneric,  and  the  will  to 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE  39 

loaf  and  to  comprehend  things  by  intuition  and  sympa- 
thy rather  than  by  the  study  of  his  guide-book,  he  runs 
the  risk  of  not  seeing  some  of  the  most  picturesque 
and  restful  bits  of  the  town.  The  professional  tourist 
and  his  mentor  pay  but  small  attention  to  the  Seine; 
they  remark  the  numerous  bridges  and  the  steamboats — 
mouches  and  hirondelles  (flies  and  swallows),  as  they  are 
poetically  called — that  ply  between  Charenton  and  Au- 
teuil,  and  from  the  Louvre  as  far  as  Saint-Cloud  and 
Suresnes;  but,  apart  from  this  passenger  service,  they 
know  very  little  about  the  river.  The  sentimental 
flaneur,  on  the  other  hand,  knows  that  the  river  is  rich 
in  variety  of  aspect  and  incident,  and  that  delicious 
hours  may  be  spent  by  the  dreamer  who  has  the  leisure 
to  loiter  on  the  bridges  and  along  the  quays,  and  to 
feast  his  eyes  on  simple  phases  and  combinations  of 
life,  nature,  and  art.  From  the  almost  superhuman  pa- 
tience of  the  fishermen  who  line  the  quays  and  make 
them  bristle  with  long  bamboo  poles,  the  loiterer  may 
take  example  of  hopefulness  and  perseverance.  From 
the  family  groups  that  sit  along  the  shore  lost  in  con- 
templation of  the  water,  and  from  the  children  who  play 
on  the  sand-heaps  while  their  mothers  sew  and  gossip 
just  as  they  might  do  at  the  sea-side,  the  thoughtful 
spectator  may  conclude  that  the  source  of  happiness  is 
within  each  one  of  us  in  the  prism  of  illusion  that  gives 
to  reality  the  aspect  that  our  fancy  pleases. 

How  many  pretexts  for  idling  and  looking  on  are 
afforded  by  the  banks  of  the  Seine.  A  passing  train 
of  boats,  a  fisherman  casting  his  net,  a  steamer  gliding 
under  the  bridge,  two  men  beating  a  carpet,  an  ambu- 
lant specialist  carding  a  mattress  on  the  tow-path,  a 
steam-crane  hoisting  sand  from  a  barge  and  depositing 
it  in  a  pyramid  on  the  quay — anything  and  everything 
that  takes  place  on  the  water  or  along  the  embankments 


40 


THE    PRAISE   OF    PARIS 


of  the  Seine  suffices  to  interest  a  group  of  citizens  and 
causes  them  to  halt  and  gaze.  How  often  does  one 
remark  the  parapet  of  one  of  the  bridges  literally  black 
with  people,  all  leaning  over  the  rail  and  watching  with 
the  most  intense  interest  ?  Watching  what  ?  Simply 
a  dog  swimming  in  the  river  and  retrieving  the  stick 
that  his  master  throws  for  him.  A  still  larger  and 
more  respectfully  attentive  crowd  will  be  drawn  by 
the  fascinating  spectacle  of  a  handsome  poodle  being 
clipped  and  washed  by  one  of  those  artists  whose  stock 
in  trade  consists  of  a  box,  a  pair  of  shears,  and  an  in- 
scription or  sign  such  as  the  following :  "  Pascal,  ton- 
deur.  Tond  les  chiens,  coupe  les  chats  et  les  oreilles.* 
Va-t-en  ville."  Pascal  and  often  Madame  Pascal  also 
operate  along  the  river  at  the  points  where  the  quays 
slope  gently  down  into  the  water;  they  wash,  soap, 
bathe,  brush,  and  comb  house-dogs  in  general ;  and  they 
shear  the  poodles  with  an  art  and  an  inventive  taste- 
fulness  that  are  without  parallel  in  any  country  of  the 
world;  for  while  they  shave  their  hind-quarters  they 
yet  leave  bands  and  arabesques  of  wool  that  relieve  the 
nudity  of  the  body,  together  with  rings  of  wool  around 
the  legs  and  coquettish  tufts  which  give  distinction  to 
the  tail.  The  dog-clipper,  like  the  human  hair-dresser, 
is  an  artist;  he  studies  each  subject  that  is  intrusted 
to  his  care,  and  arranores  the  coiffure  in  each  case  ac- 
cording  to  the  character  of  the  poodle.  To  one  he 
gives  a  modest  and  unobtrusive  head,  and  cuts  the  hair 
about  his  nose  so  that  the  mustache  remains  as  un- 
worldly as  that  of  an  English  country  curate.  To  an- 
other he  reserves  by  a  clever  turn  of  the  clippers  one 
of  those  flaring  and  impertinent  mustaches  to  which 
silly  girls  hang  their  hearts.  All  these  niceties  and 
finesses  i\\Q  Jianeiir  observes  and  notes,  and  he  remarks, 
too,  the   disdainful  way  in  which   the   poodle  with   the 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE 


41 


impertinent  mustache  holds  out  his  paw,  after  his  toilet 
is  finished,  when  the  gentleman  who  accompanies  him, 
evidently  a  flunkey  of  very  superior  grade,  clasps  be- 
tween the  frills  of  the  left  fore-leg  a  dainty  gold  bracelet 
bearing  the  name  and  the  coronet  of  the  poodle's  aris- 
tocratic mistress.  This  last  detail  of  his  toilet  having 
been  attended  to,  the  poodle  departs  with  the  flunkey, 
followed  by  the  admiring  eyes  of  the  deeply-impressed 
public,  and  in  the  afternoon  he  will  be  seen  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  accompanying  his  pretty  mistress,  Ma- 
dame la  marquise  de  B ,  and  surveying  the  fashion- 
able world  from  the  cushions  of  her  elegant  victoria. 

Another  bathing  scene  that  attracts  the  loungers  is 
that  of  the  horses.  All  along  the  quays  at  intervals  on 
both  sides  of  the  river  a  space  is  marked  out  by  means 
of  great  floating  logs  attached  together  and  tied  to  the 
bank  at  the  ends.  Particularly  in  the  late  afternoon 
hours  the  draymen  bring  their  horses,  and  ride  them 
into  these  baths  until  the  water  almost  covers  their 
backs.  The  horses  from  the  cavalry  barracks  are  also 
bathed  in  the  same  way,  and  what  with  the  wonderful 
background  of  trees  and  monuments,  the  sunset  effect, 
the  long  shadows,  the  glowing  sky,  and  the  glistening 
water,  the  scene  is  always  one  that  delights  the  painter 
as  well  as  the  simple-minded  idler,  who  submits  uncon- 
sciously to  the  charm  of  the  evening  hour  and  to  the 
joy  of  the  moment.  The  Seine,  like  Paris  itself,  is  uni- 
versal ;  its  variety  is  such  that  you  can  always  find  a 
bit  that  completes  the  dream  towards  which  your  soul 
is  tending,  just  as  in  the  street  scenery  of  Paris  you  can 
find  souvenirs  or  suggestions  of  all  the  provinces  of 
France,  and  of  all  the  countries  of  Europe.  What,  for 
instance,  can  be  more  rural,  more  provincial,  more  full 
of  the  sentiment  and  poetry  of  declining  day,  than  the 
landscape  depicted  in  our  illustration  ?     The  three  fig- 


42  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

ures  sitting  on  a  log,  the  tired  horses,  the  glistening, 
mysterious  water,  the  floating  wash  -  house  with  its 
chimney,  the  moored  lighters,  the  bridge  with  the  trees 
and  buildings — surely  all  this  is  the  portrait  of  some  lazy 
country  place  where  the  days  are  long,  and  where  men 
are  calm  and  patient.  No.  This  is  a  bit  of  the  Seine 
at  Paris.  It  is  the  bathing-place  for  horses  just  above 
Notre  Dame,  and  the  bridge  is  the  Pont  Marie,  which 
connects  the  He  Saint-Louis  with  the  Quai  de  1' Hotel 
de  Ville ;  in  other  words,  it  is  a  spot  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  capital. 

Not  far  from  this  Pont  Marie  is  a  delightfully  pictu- 
resque spot,  greatly  appreciated  for  other  than  aesthetic 
reasons  by  the  small  boys  of  the  quarter ;  this  is  the 
marche  aux  pommes,  or  apple  -  market.  The  fruit 
comes  chiefly  from  Normandy,  and  is  brought  in  great 
lighters  roofed  over  with  boards  and  tarpaulin.  These 
lighters  are  moored  off  the  quay  almost  facing  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  where  they  remain  in  permanence  all 
through  the  autumn  and  winter  until  there  is  no  more 
fruit.  The  apple  trade  is  busiest  in  the  winter,  of 
course,  when  the  waters  of  the  Seine  frequently  swell 
and  overflow  the  banks,  and  then  the  floating  market 
has  to  be  connected  with  the  shore  by  means  of  im- 
provised bridges  of  broad  planks  with  hand-rails,  along 
which  the  stevedores  run  with  baskets  of  fruit  balanced 
on  their  shoulders.  Such  is  the  scene  shown  in  our 
wintry  sketch,  where  we  see  the  apple-market,  the  flood- 
ed quay,  a  smoking  wash-house,  and  in  the  background 
the  Palais  de  Justice,  the  Conciergerie  with  its  pepper- 
box towers,  and  in  the  far  background  the  majestic  sil- 
houette of  the  Louvre.  Elsewhere  along  the  quays  we 
find  here  and  there  two  or  three  boats  moored  in  per- 
manence like  the  fruit -lighters,  with  the  inscription 
"  Marche  au  charbon.     Gros  et  detail."     These  lio;hters 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE 


43 


come  chiefly  from  the  timber  country  of  the  Morvan, 
and  with  its  load  below  and  above  the  water  each  one 
contains  many  thousands  of  bushels  of  charcoal,  and 
becomes  in  itself,  as  the  inscription  says,  a  wholesale 
and  retail  charcoal-market. 

One  of  the  points  along  the  river  that  seems  to  at- 
tract more  than  any  other  the   respectful  curiosity  of 


HORSES    BATHING— PONT   MARIE 


the  Parisians  is  the  Port  Saint  Nicolas  du  Louvre. 
This  is  the  true  seaport  of  Paris.  At  this  quay,  nest- 
ling under  the  Pont  du  Carrousel  and  shaded  by  the 
fine  trees  that  Qrrow  alono-  the  Ouai  des  Tuileries,  the 
sea-going  ships  cast  anchor  and  discharge  their  cargoes. 
The  reofular  direct  service  of  the  Burnett  line  of 
steamers  between  London  and  Paris  starts  from  here, 


44 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


and  also  some  steamers  running  between  Paris,  Brest^ 
Nantes,  and  Bayonne.  Thus,  "  Paris  Port  de  mer  "  is 
already  a  reality,  though,  of  course,  in  a  modest  way, 
and  for  ships  of  light  draught  only.  Nevertheless,  the 
Parisians,  as  they  cross  the  bridge,  always  look  to  see 
what  strange  merchandise  the  English  steamer  has 
brought  from  beyond  the  seas,  and  few  of  them  remem- 
ber that  hundreds  of  years  ago  Lutetia  was  the  inter- 
mediary port  through  which  the  products  of  the  East 
and  the  wines  of  Greece  and  Italy  passed  on  their  way 
from  Marseilles  to  the  great  island  of  the  Britons. 

Of  this  ancient  line  of  traffic,  by  way  of  the  Seine, 
the  Saone,  and  the  Rhone,  we  are  reminded  by  the  nu- 
merous tug-boats  and  barges  that  we  see  plying  on  the 
river  with  the  names  "  Havre,  Paris,  Lyon,"  printed  on 
the  prows  and  sterns.  Besides  the  ordinary  tug-boats 
we  notice  strange  iron  hulks  pierced  with  port- holes 
and  looking  not  unlike  gunboats.  In  the  holds  of  these 
hulks  there  are  steam-engines,  and  on  the  flush  decks  six 
broad,  grooved  pulleys,  or  drums,  fixed  in  sets  of  three 
on  two  parallel  axles, and  moved  by  big  cog-wheels 
worked  directly  by  the  engine.  Now  along  the  bed  of 
the  Seine  from  Rouen  to  Paris,  and  from  Paris  to 
Montereau,  and  along  the  bed  of  the  Yonne  from  Mon- 
tereau  to  La  Roche,  there  lies  an  iron  chain  with  links 
about  three  inches  long.  Each  of  the  tug- boats  in 
question  is  attached  to  this  chain,  which  is  caught  up 
by  a  pulley  at  one  end  of  the  deck,  wound  round  each 
of  the  six  pulleys  in  the  middle,  and  passed  back  into 
the  water  over  a  pulley  at  the  other  end  of  the  deck. 
The  tug  is  round  at  both  ends,  and  winds  itself  along 
backward  or  forvyard,  pulling  on  the  chain  and  drag- 
ging a  string  of  ten  or  fifteen  huge  barges.  Of  course 
these  tugs  cannot  quit  the  chain  without  unmounting 
the  machinery  on  their  decks.     When  two  trains  meet. 


™j^ 


i^ 


'^\ 


MARCHE    AUX    POMMES 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE  47 

one  going  up-stream  and  the  other  down,  the  tugs  sim- 
ply exchange  trains  and  retrace  their  course,  the  one 
that  was  coming  up  going  back  with  the  down-train, 
and  the  one  that  was  coming  down  going  up  again  with 
the  up -train.  The  speed  of  these  chain -tugs  is  not 
great,  but  their  dragging  power  is  enormous.  More 
rapid  service  is  provided  by  screw  tug-boats  and  by  very 
long  barges,  with  paddle-wheels  in  the  stern.  All  these 
varieties  of  tugs,  and  many  descriptions  of  river  and 
canal  barges  may  be  studied  from  the  picturesque  Pont 
de  I'Estacade  and  along  the  Ouai  de  la  Rapee,  where 
are  the  offices  of  various  lines  of  inland  navigation. 
And  what  informal  offices  they  are !  Mere  wooden  toy- 
houses,  with  flowers  growing  on  the  roofs  and  nas- 
turtiums trained  round  the  windows.  Nevertheless, 
this  is  a  busy  part  of  the  city.  It  is  true  that  nobody 
seems  to  be  in  a  great  hurry.  The  employees  work  in 
a  leisurely  way  and  find  plenty  of  time  to  chat  with  the 
customs  officers,  who  lounge  about  watchfully,  clad  in 
tasteful  green  uniforms.  But  still  business  goes  on  all 
the  same.  Carts  are  going  to  and  fro  all  day  long ;  the 
steam-cranes  swing  round  and  rattle  their  chains,  and 
merchandise  is  loaded  and  unloaded.  The  cargoes  are 
building- iron,  plaster,  cement,  drain -pipes,  tiles,  crock- 
ery, fire-wood,  barrels  of  wine,  sacks  of  flour,  mineral 
waters  from  Vals  and  Orezza,  etc.  The  return  freight 
for  the  first-class  boats  is  sugar  and  Parisian  manufact- 
ured articles,  and  for  the  ordinary  barges  and  canal- 
boats  little  except  empty  barrels,  which  they  carry  back 
to  Burgundy  to  be  refilled. 

At  the  end  of  the  Quai  de  la  Rapee  is  the  entrance 
to  the  Canal  Saint-Martin,  which  passes  through  a  tun- 
nel under  the  Place  de  la  Bastille  and  under  the  Boule- 
vard Richard  Lenoir,  and  comes  to  light  again  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint- Martin,  following  the  Ouai  de  Valmy 


BASSIN  DE  L\ 
VILETTE 


and  the  Quai  de  Jemmapes  until  it  reaches  the 
Bassin  de  la  Villette,  where  are  the  great  commercial 
docks  of  Paris,  lined  with  endless  warehouses,  and  im- 
mense depots  for  grain  and  miscellaneous  merchandise. 
The  aspect  of  the  great  basin  of  La  Villette  is  very  in- 
teresting, and  a  certain  strangeness  is  given  to  the  view 
of  the  ensemble  by  the  gigantic  iron  passerelle  or  foot- 
bridge which  has  been  thrown  across  it,  with  a  height 
of  span  that  might  have  been  useful  had  the  docks 
been  destined  to  receive  full-rigged  ships,  but  which 
seems  pretentious  considering  that  the  river  steamers 
have  only  short  funnels,  and  the  canal-boats  boast  mere- 
ly a  modest  mast  to  carry  their  tow-lines.  However,  we 
cannot  complain;  the  great  passerelle  is  decidedly  pic-, 
turesque,  especially  towards  mid-day,  when  it  is  crossed 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE 


49 


by  informal  processions  of  laughing  and  joyous  girls, 
who  come  out  of  the  neighboring  work-shops  to  lunch 
upon  fried  potatoes,  and  to  give  the  chance  lounger  an 
idea  of  the  types  of  feminine  beauty  that  prevail  in  the 
faubourgs. 

Along  the  quays  of  the  Seine,  of  the  Canal  Saint- 
Martin,  and  of  the  Bassin  de  la  Villette  we  find  mer- 
chandise that  is  brought  literally  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  to  Paris  by  water.  By  means  of  the  Seine,  Paris 
is  in  water  communication  with  Rouen  and  Havre,  and 
consequently  with  the  great  ocean  lines.  On  the 
Ouai  de  la  Rapee  we  see  steamers  and  trains  of  barges 
that  go  to  Nancy,  Epinal,  and  Les  Vosges,  for  by  means 
of  the  Marne  and  the  Canal  of  the  Marne  there  is  a 


ECLUSE     SAINT-MARTIN 


50  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

water-way  from  Paris  to  Strasbourg  and  the  Rhine, 
while  by  the  River  Oise  and  its  three  canals  of  Saint- 
Quentin,  the  Sambre,  and  the  Ardennes  we  can  reach 
the  basin  of  the  Scheldt  and  the  Meuse,  and  bring 
slowly  but  cheaply  to  Paris  the  products  of  the  coal- 
fields of  Mons  and  Charleroi.  As  for  Lyons,  the  cen- 
tre of  France  and  Marseilles,  the  great  port  of  the 
Mediterranean,  it  is  placed  in  water  communication 
with  Paris  by  two  routes.  By  one  route  we  go  up  the 
Seine  as  far  as  Saint-Mammes,  and  then  take  the  Canal 
du  Loing,  the  Canal  de  Briare,  the  Canal  Lateral  de  la 
Loire,  and  the  Canal  du  Centre,  which  leads  us  into  the 
Saone,  by  which  we  reach  Lyons  and  the  Rhone.  By 
another  route  we  go  up  the  Yonne  and  reach  the  Saone 
by  the  Canal  de  Bourgogne,  while  by  the  Canal  de  I'Est 
we  can  push  into  Germany  and  Switzerland. 

All  these  routes  are  followed  by  barges  that  bring  to 
Paris  various  cargoes,  but  principally  building  materials, 
fire-wood,  coal,  gravel,  sand,  and  wine.  Towards  Bercy 
the  banks  of  the  Seine  are  covered  with  thousands  of 
barrels  of  wine;  between  Notre  Dame  and  Auteuil  the 
quays  are  occupied  by  enormous  piles  of  fire -wood, 
mountains  of  sand  and  pebbles,  heaps  of  rough  mill- 
stone, or  meuliere,  used  for  the  foundations  of  Parisian 
buildings.  Along  the  Canal  Saint -Martin  the  quays 
are  encumbered  with  huge  blocks  of  building-stone,  and 
between  the  barges  and  the  warehouses  there  is  a  per- 
petual going  to  and  fro  of  laborious  men,  carrying  on 
their  shoulders  bags  of  plaster  of  Paris  and  cement,  or 
baskets  of  coal,  the  former  white  as  millers,  the  latter 
black  as  negroes.  The  Canal  Saint- Martin  is  divided 
by  a  succession  of  locks,  between  which  the  boats  are 
hauled  by  human  strength  and  patience.  Two  or  three 
men  hitch  themselves  on  to  a  rope,  and  with  slow  and 
short  steps,  pressing  and  straining  doggedly  between 


THE    BANKS    OF    THE    SEINE 


51 


each  one,  they  pull  and  pull,  and  the  heavy  barge  fol- 
lows sluggishly.  Often  the  barge  that  is  being  towed 
along  in  this  painful  way  is  a  microcosm  in  itself. 
Apart  from  the  cargo  and  the  nautical  accessories,  you 
see  in  the  stern  the  neat  little  house  where  the  bargee 
and  his  wife  live.  The  wife  is  preparing  the  soup  and 
peeling  carrots  and  potatoes,  while  the  children  play  on 


CANAL     SAINT-MARTIN 


the  roof  with  the  dog.  Suddenly,  from  a  square  box 
amidships,  there  issues  a  dolent  and  piercing  sound ; 
two  long  ears  and  a  shaggy  head  emerge  from  the 
door,  and  we  recognize  the  long-suffering  donkey,  whose 
function  it  is  to  haul  the  barge  along  the  narrow  canals 
of  Central  France.  While  the  barges  are  in  port  the 
donkey  gets  hauled  in  his  turn,  and  has  nothing  to  do 
but  to  rest  in  his  box  and  enjoy,  as  we  do,  the  spectacle 


52 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


of  the  busy  movement  of  the  quays,  the  teams  of  horses 
that  drag  huge  wagons,  the  stevedores  hurrying  to  and 
fro  and  bending  under  their  loads,  and  along  the  edge 
of  the  canal  the  floating  wash-houses,  where  the  lavan- 
dieres  of  the  faubourg  beat  their  linen  with  petulant 
bats,  and  gossip  with  a  vehemency  and  picturesqueness 
of  language  that  no  grammar  and  no  professor  can 
teach.  For  the  lava7idieres,  like  all  the  Parisians,  par- 
ticipate in  the  essential  and  permanent  advantage  of 
Paris  over  all  the  other  cities  of  the  universe ;  they 
drink  in  ideas  with  the  air  they  breathe,  and  their  con- 
versation is  as  sparkling  and  full  of  genius  as  that  of 
the  wits  who  sit  at  Tortoni's  and  evolve  clever  sayings 
for  the  boulevard  journals. 

The  washer-women  of  the  Seine,  and  the  stevedores 
of  the  quays,  appreciate  Paris,  we  may  be  sure,  in  the 
same  spirit,  if  not  with  the  same  intensity,  as  Sainte- 
Beuve,  Goethe,  and  the  Emperor  Julian.  They  love 
Paris  in  the  soul  of  Paris. 


SOCIETY    IN    PARIS 


THAT  admirable  prototype  of  modern  cosmopolitan- 
ism, the  emancipated  Prussian,  Heinrich  Heine, 
likened  France  to  a  great  garden  where  the  finest 
flowers  have  been  culled  to  make  a  bouquet,  and  that 
bouquet  is  called  Paris.  All  that  is  great  in  love  or 
in  hatred,  in  sentiment  or  in  thought,  in  knowledge 
or  in  power,  in  happiness  or  in  misfortune,  tends  to 
become  concentrated  in  Paris,  insomuch  that  when  we 
consider  the  great  assembly  of  distinguished  or  cele- 
brated men  who  are  found  there,  the  city  seems  like  a 
veritable  Pantheon  of  living  glory. 

It  was  Heine,  too,  who  explained  so  daintily  why 
French  actors  are  superior  to  all  others,  and  the  reason 
is  that  all  French  people  are  born  comedians.  They 
have  the  talent  of  learning  their  parts  so  well  in  all  the 
situations  of  life,  and  of  draping  themselves  so  advan- 
tageously, that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  them.  Among 
the  French,  both  in  life,  in  literature,  and  in  the  plastic 
arts,  the  theatrical  element  dominates  to  such  an  extent 
that  Heine  was  inclined  to  look  upon  the  whole  his- 
tory of  France  as  a  grand  comedy,  represented  for  the 
benefit  of  humanity  in  general. 

In  the  "  huge  magazin  of  men  and  rendezvous  of 
forreners,"  as  old  James  Howell  called  Paris,  nearly 
three  centuries  ago,  one   may  always  see   an  amusing 


56  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

comedy  being  played  in  beautiful  scenery.  The  spec- 
tacle of  Parisian  life  is  as  excellently  organized  as  the 
city  itself.  Everything  is  neatly  and  precisely  ordered 
by  times  and  seasons ;  the  succession  of  incidents  is 
fixed  with  a  certain  suave  monotony ;  and  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end  the  whole  play  is  so  lucid  that  the 
visitor  may  drop  in  at  any  moment  and  immediately 
catch  the  thread  of  the  argument. 

In  reality,  Paris  is  a  mere  village ;  you  may  walk 
across  it  in  an  hour;  you  may  read  its  leading  news- 
papers from  title  to  colophon  in  ten  minutes ;  and  you 
may  sum  up  its  Court  and  Society  Guide  in  a  hundred 
and  fifty  names  and  half  a  dozen  categories.  Thus  in 
a  short  time  and  by  dint  of  a  little  intelligent  observa- 
tion, you  may  become  familiar  with  the  whole  machin- 
ery of  Parisian  life,  learn  the  special  functions  of  each 
eminent  puppet,  and  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  the 
strings  that  work  it.  As  for  fashionable  life,  "  la  grande 
vie,"  as  it  is  called,  it  is  practically  accessible  to  any  as- 
pirant who  has  money  and  time  to  waste,  for  it  consists 
chiefly  in  doing  regularly  and  ostensibly  certain  things 
which  are  generally  neither  amusing,  nor  intelligent, 
nor  interesting,  but  which  for  unknown  reasons  have 
come  to  be  considered  as  elegant.  "Society-in  Paris," 
says  a  recent  observer  who,  it  may  be  remarked,  is  a 
Frenchman  and  an  aristocrat,  "  is  a  tiresome  and  gro- 
tesque buffoonery;  the  word  Society  has  no  longer 
any  signification ;  democracy  has  put  an  end  to  social 
classes  and  groups;  there  is  no  longer  any  esprit  de 
corps;  nothing  but  individuals,  rich  or  poor,  intelligent 
or  foolish." 

We  will  not  make  bold  to  contradict  this  Parisian 
who  speaks  so  evilly  of  his  contemporaries.  Let  us 
rather  resume  briefly  the  history  of  modern  Parisian 
society,  and  analyze  its  component  elements  before  we 


SOCIETY    IN  57 

proceed  to  watch,  and  perhaps  61.^;, ,  u.e  "  tiresome  and 
grotesque  buffoonery "  which  its  life  and  occupations 
are  said  to  constitute. 

In  the  later  years  of  his  life  the  eminent  novelist, 
Octave  Feuillet,  replied  as  follows  to  a  critic  who  re- 
proached him  with  not  having  read  Balzac  enough, 
and  with  frequenting  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  too 
much :  "  Does  such  a  thing  as  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  exist  at  the  present  day?  The  finest  mansions 
in  that  district  are  inhabited  by  Israelite  financiers  and 
by  the  Ministers  of  the  republic.  The  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  nowadays  is  scattered  all  over  the  town;  it  is  in 
the  Pare  Monceau,  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  everywhere. 
The  great  families  thus  disseminated  over  Paris  might, 
nevertheless,  have  continued  to  form  a  separate  and 
rigorously  exclusive  society.  Even  this  is  no  longer 
the  case.  High  Parisian  society,  if  I  may  judge  from 
the  American  novels  that  I  have  read,  resembles  very 
much  modern  high  American  society.  It  is  still  select, 
scrupulous  in  the  choice  of  those  admitted  into  it,  but 
it  is  no  longer  closed  by  any  prejudice  of  caste." 

Since  the  great  Revolution,  the  history  of  high  so- 
ciety in  Paris  has  been  a  history  of  decadence,  trans- 
formation, and  absorption.  The  social  citadel  has  been 
forced  successively  by  the  rich  bourgeoisie  and  by  the 
Israelites.  The  French  gentlemen  of  the  old  regime, 
the  marquises  with  their  red  heels,  their  lace  ruiifles, 
their  haughty  tones,  and  withal  their  seductive  qualities 
of  race — frivolously  elegant  in  times  of  peace,  brave  on 
the  field  of  battle — this  nobility,  forming  a  real  caste,  a 
society  within  a  society,  exists  no  longer.  What  does 
noblesse  amount  to  nowadays  1  Armorial  bearings  on 
a  carriage  door,  a  coronet  in  the  crown  of  an  opera-hat, 
generous  sentiments  in  the  hearts  of  a  few  gentlemen 
here  and  there,  and  that  is  all.     The  Revolution  was  a 


58  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

terrible  leveller,  and  the  nobles  who  survived  during  the 
period  of  emigration  had  to  begin  life  over  again  when 
they  returned  to  France  after  the  foundation  of  the 
empire.  It  was  then  that  the  name  of  the  Faubourg 
Saint  Germain  was  given  to  the  society  formed  of  the 
old  nobles,  in  order  to  distinguish  it  from  the  upstart 
aristocracy  of  the  empire  which  had  settled  in  the  Fau- 
boura^  Saint-Honore  and  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.  The 
returned  exiles  lived  poor  and  happy  during  the  empire 
and  the  reign  of  Charles  X.,  making  much  noise  of  op- 
position, deprived  of  their  privileges,  and  with  dimin- 
ished pride  of  race.  How  could  they  repair  their 
broken  fortunes  ?  The  only  means  were  mesalliances 
and  the  acceptance  of  lucrative  offices.  Then  came  the 
revolution  of  1830,  which  split  the  old  noblesse  into  two 
camps,  the  Orleanists  and  the  Legitimists.  The  bour- 
geois King,  Louis  Philippe,  was  laughed  at.  The  no- 
ble Faubourg  sulked  for  a  time,  and  when  it  once  more 
opened  its  salons,  its  social  prestige  was  diminished. 
Deprived  of  the  guidance  of  the  Dauphine  and  the 
dowagers,  having  no  censor  or  grand  inquisitor,  the 
young  women  began  to  affect  a  certain  disdain  of  the 
graces  of  their  ancestors  and  adopted  fast  English 
habits.  This  was  the  period  of  the  lionne,  a  type  of 
society  woman  who  sought  to  astonish  by  her  mascu- 
line audacity  rather  than  to  charm  by  refined  coquetry. 
At  this  time,  too,  cosmopolitanism  began  to  make  its 
way  into  Parisian  society,  and  in  1848  the  four  leading 
salons  of  Paris  were  presided  over  by  the  Princess  de 
Lieven,  Madame  Swetchine,  Madame  de  Circourt,  and 
the  Princess  Belgiojoso,  the  first  three  Russians,  the 
latter  an  Italian. 

The  second  empire  made  Parisian  society  still  more 
cosmopolitan,  and  then  the  grand  monde  came  to  an 
end  for   want    of  grand    seigneurs    and    grand    ladies. 


SOCIETY    IN    PARIS  6l 

The  conditions  of  sociability  had  changed  with  the 
change  in  manners.  The  life  of  the  clubs,  of  the  race- 
courses, and  of  Parliament  had  afforded  men  new  meet- 
ing-places. The  traditions  of  ancient  French  courtesy- 
were  forgotten.  The  discreet  homage  paid  to  women 
under  the  title  of  galanterie  vanished ;  the  habits  of 
smoking  and  gambling  produced  a  social  separation 
of  the  sexes,  and  the  salon,  in  the  old  sense  of  the 
term,  became  impossible.  The  great  lady,  the  grande 
dame,  above  all,  was  wanting ;  for  the  bourgeoisie  of  the 
reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  and  the  equalitarian  democracy 
which  followed,  had  not  the  innate  gifts  which  made 
the  French  grande  dame  of  former  days  the  queen  of 
European  elegance. 

What  those  gifts  were  it  is  not  easy  to  relate  in  a  few 
words,  but  in  general  one  may  say  that  aristocratic 
manners  are  the  outcome  of  the  sentiment  of  art  car- 
ried into  the  smallest  details  of  life.  The  aristocratic 
spirit  is  eminently  artistic.  It  is  the  sentiment  of  in- 
dividuality and  of  form  carried  to  its  highest  degree  of 
intensity,  which  gives  to  the  person,  the  family,  the 
house,  and  to  the  patrician  race  that  ideal  or  plastic 
value  which  also  constitutes  the  beauty  of  works  of  art. 
Aristocratic  life  is  conventional,  like  the  life  of  art;  but 
its  conventions  are  founded  on  the  knowledge  of  the 
noblest  conditions  of  human  nature  and  human  life — 
namely,  simplicity  in  grandeur.  Aristocracy  has  its 
grimace  like  art ;  as  mannerism  is  to  style  so  is  the 
parvenu  to  the  gentleman. 

Parisian  society  under  the  third  republic  is  com- 
posed of  remnants  of  the  past,  intermingled  with  a  vari- 
ety of  new  elements.  It  is  a  society  in  a  state  of  dis- 
solution and  of  evolution,  without  chief,  censor,  or  guide 
of  any  kind.  Society  in  London  has  been  defined  as 
the  social  area  of  which  the  Prince  of  Wales  is  person- 


62  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

ally  cognizant,  within  the  limits  of  which  he  visits,  and 
every  member  of  which  is,  to  some  extent,  in  touch  with 
the  ideas  and  wishes  of  his  Royal  Highness.  In  Paris 
we  have  no  such  central  authority  and  rallying  point. 
Parisian  society  is  simply  a  congeries  of  sets  and  social 
spheres,  between  which  it  is  not  easy  to  mark  the 
boundary  lines,  and  which  all  contribute  to  form  an 
eclectic  social  corporation  called  "All  Paris "( Zbz^/- 
Paris).  We  have  remnants  of  the  past  in  the  shape  of 
Orleanist  society,  Bonapartist  society,  and  the  fast  so- 
ciety of  the  surviving  cocodettes  of  the  empire.  Then 
there  is  the  official  society  of  the  third  republic,  the 
great  and  small  Israelite  society,  academic  society,  etc. 

The  chroniclers  of  Parisian  society  are  fond  of  using 
the  epithet  "select,"  though  in  reality  nothing  is  less 
select  than  Parisian  society  at  the  present  day,  in  spite 
of  Octave  Feuillet's  half-hearted  statement  to  the  con- 
trary. The  three  main  dissolving  elements  are  com- 
mercial wealth,  the  Jews,  and  the  all -invading  Tout- 
Paris.  Commercial  wealth  has  tainted  the  old  no- 
bility through  innumerable  mesalliances  made  for  the 
purpose  of  regilding  impoverished  escutcheons.  The 
Due  de  Crussol  d'Uzes  married  a  Clicquot  of  cham- 
pagne renown.  The  Princess  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne 
is  the  widow  of  a  stock-broker  named  Leroux,  and  her 
daughter  has  become  Duchesse  de  Bauffremont.  Her 
sister,  Caroline  Leroux,  married  successively  the  Due 
de  Massa  and  the  Baron  Roger,  and  her  sons  are 
those  two  flowers  of  elegance,  the  Marquis  Philippe  de 
Massa  and  the  Baron  Eugene  Roger.  The  Comtesse 
de  la  Ferronays,  a  very  grand  lady  in  the  Orleanist 
world,  was  a  botirgeoise  nee  Guibert.  The  Princesse 
de  Sasfan  is  the  dauHiter  of  the  banker  Seilliere.  The 
Marquise  de  Gallifet  is  the  daughter  of  the  banker 
Laffitte.     The  Due  de  Montmorency  married  Carmen 


SOCIETY   IN    PARIS  63 

Ida,  daughter  of  the  banker  Aguado.  The  Due 
d'Arenberg  married  a  daughter  of  the  banker  Gref- 
fuhle.  The  Vicomtesse  de  Tredern,  daughter  of  the 
sugar-refiner  Say,  was  by  her  first  marriage  Duchesse 
de  Brissac,  and  her  sister  has  become  Princesse  Ame- 
dee  de  Broghe.  All  these  ladies  have  achieved  the 
glory  of  being  leaders  of  society. 

The  invasion  of  Parisian  society  by  the  Jews  is  one 
of  the  remarkable  phenomena  of  the  day.  There  are 
two  classes  of  Jews  in  Paris,  the  French  Jews  and  the 
exotic  Jews.  The  former  have  become  P>ench  by  long 
habitation,  the  latter  have  settled  in  Paris,  for  the  most 
part,  during  the  past  fifteen  years.  The  chief  families 
of  French  Jews  are  the  Rothschilds,  the  Foulds,  the 
Sterns,  the  Bischoffsheims,  the  Cahens  d'Anvers,  the 
Koenigswarters,  the  Goldschmidts.  The  exotic  Jews 
who  have  arrived  recently  from  Frankfort,  Munich, 
Constantinople,  Odessa,  and  the  Levant  are  named 
Saly-Stern,  Kahn,  Camondo,  Erlanger,  Gunzbourg,  Eph- 
russi ;  their  accent  is  generally  German,  and  their  fort- 
unes are  of  recent  growth,  and  are  constantly  risked  in 
vast  operations  on  the  Stock-exchange.  The  wives  of 
these  new  Israelites  are  almost  all  foreigners — Levan- 
tines, Greeks,  Turks,  Smyrniotes,  Americans,  even. 

The  chief  aim  of  these  new  Jews  during  the  past  ten 
years  has  been  to  obtain  titles  and  to  conquer  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain,  as  we  shall  continue  to  call  the 
high  titled  society  of  Paris.  The  titles  have  been  ob- 
tained mostly  by  purchase.  The  conquest  of  the  Fau- 
bourg is  now  complete;  the  Jews  are  in  the  heart  of  the 
citadel ;  their  wealth  and  their  perseverance  have  car- 
ried the  day.     But  the  struggle  was  hard  and  long. 

"  I  remember,"  writes  a  lady  friend,  "  the  reception 
days  of  some  of  the  richest  and  most  prominent  Jew- 
esses  a   few  years  ago.      There  was    hardly  a  single 


64  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

Catholic  lady  present,  and  very  few  French  people. 
During  the  past  eight  years  there  has  been  a  marked 
change.  The  French  go  to  their  receptions,  and  the 
Jewesses  go  everywhere.  They  have  the  best  boxes  at 
the  Opera  and  at  the  Comedie -Fran9aise;  they  give 
the  finest  fetes  in  Paris;  they  drive  the  finest  horses; 
they  have  racing  -  stables ;  they  hunt  the  stag  in  the 
ex-royal  forests  of  Fontainebleau  and  Saint  -  Germain  ; 
they  are  received  by  the  Orleans  princes;  they  are 
the  friends  of  the  descendants  of  Napoleon.  At  the 
Wednesday  receptions  of  the  Princesse  Mathilde  eight 
years  ago  there  was  not  a  single  Jew,  whereas  now  the 
Jews  form  the  majority." 

This  statement  is  rigorously  exact.  The  Jewish  ele- 
ment is  becoming  rapidly  predominant  in  Parisian  so- 
ciety, and  the  daughters  of  Israel  seem  to  have  the 
choice  of  the  coronets  of  the  noble  Faubourg. 

The  invasion  of  society  by  the  Tout-Paris  is  due  to 
the  growing  absence  of  discreetness  and  delicacy  in 
social  relations.  It  is  admitted,  for  instance,  that  you 
may  ask  for  an  invitation  to  a  ball  or  fete  given  by  a 
hostess  whom  you  do  not  know,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  person  to  whom  you  may  have  been  once  pre- 
sented in  a  crowded  room  thinks  himself  authorized 
to  invite  you  to  dinner  or  to  a  reception.  This  Tout- 
Paris  is  a  vast  and  very  elastic  conglomeration  of  men 
and  women  of  French  and  exotic  origin,  from  princes 
down  to  stock  -  brokers,  and  from  duchesses  down  to 
blue  -  stockings,  whose  sole  object  in  life  is  to  know 
everybody,  to  go  everyw^iere,  and  to  see  everything. 
The  Tout-Paris  has  replaced  society  in  Paris,  and  sub- 
stituted for  the  art  of  conversation  and  all  the  other 
charms  of  old  French  society  a  routine  of  relations 
based  upon  one  or  all  of  three  motives — vanity,  curiosi- 
ty, and  self-interest. 


SOCIETY    IN    PARIS  65 

The  high  life  of  which  one  reads  in  the  Paris  papers 
is  the  life,  principally,  of  this  Tozit-Paris.  In  order  to 
participate  in  this  life  one  must  know  a  multitude  of 
people.  During  the  season  one  must  pay  eight  or  ten 
visits  every  afternoon,  otherwise  one  is  mal  eleve.  In 
the  evening  one  must  appear  at  three  or  four  recep- 
tions. Besides  this,  one  must  follow  the  picture  exhibi- 
tions, read  the  new  books,  see  all  the  new  plays,  go  to 
receptions  at  the  Academy,  have  one's  say  on  every- 
thing, be  well  informed,  know  all  the  gossip  and  scan- 
dal, afHrm,  decide,  pass  judgment.  All  this  demands 
a  great  sum  of  daily  work  and  considerable  physical 
strength  and  endurance,  for  it  is  astonishing  how  im- 
mense Tout-Paris  is,  and  how  many  people  there  are 
of  the  same  monde  and  of  the  same  condition. 

The  fulfilment  of  all  these  social  duties  is  equivalent 
to  being  "  in  the  movement."  Such  is  la  vie  chic,  a  sort 
of  social  book-keeping.  A  lady  in  the  movement  starts 
out  after  lunch,  and  her  only  desire  is  to  have  ticked 
off  all  the  nam.es  written  on  her  visitinsf-list  before  she 
returns  home  to  dinner.  There  is  a  printed  code  of 
good  manners  and  savoir  vivre,  where  all  the  incidents 
of  la  vie  chic  are  formulated,  and  wherein  all  may  read 
and  learn  when  to  rise,  when  to  sit  down,  how  to  salute 
a  lady,  and  how  to  address  the  Chinese  Ambassador 
or  the  Papal  Nuncio.  And  so  all  the  members  of  the 
Tout -Paris  are  equal  in  good  manners.  In  modern 
Paris  it  is  suiBcient  to  be  bieji  eleve.  Formerly  it  was 
sufficient  to  be  bien  ne  (well  born),  for  that  fact  implied 
the  possession  of  a  superior  politeness  which  comes 
from  something  other  than  printed  codes,  and  serves  to 
guide  us  when  formulas  fail. 

This  busy,  gossiping,  vain  Tout -Paris  really  repre- 
sents  society  in   modern    Paris.     The   moribund    Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain,  I  mean  the  few  families  who  re- 
5 


66  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

tain  the  old  exclusive  traditions  and  who  receive  each 
other  rarely,  nobly,  and  meagrely,  cannot  be  spoken  of 
as  the  society  that  represents  the  French  nation. 

The  Orleanist  society,  while  remaining  the  most  se- 
lect, the  most  polished,  and  the  most  correct  of  all  Pari- 
sian social  spheres,  is  limited  in  numbers  and  decidedly 
not  the  representative  society  of  the  nation. 

Bonapartist  society  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist  at  all ; 
it  has  come  to  utter  grief,  like  the  Bonapartist  party 
itself.  As  for  republican  society,  one  sees  its  members 
at  the  houses  of  Senators  and  Deputies,  and  at  the 
Ministerial  receptions.  But  this  is  not  society;  it  is 
merely  a  crowd.  The  President  of  the  republic  does 
not  exist  socially.  Who,  then,  represent  official  society.^ 
The  Ministers  and  their  wives.  But  the  Ministers  are 
constantly  going  out  of  office.  Yes,  and  therefore  offi- 
cial society  in  Paris  has  no  consistency  and  no  dura- 
ble existence.  By  fits  and  starts  there  are  receptions 
at  the  Ministries,  and  at  those  receptions  half  a  dozen 
prominent  republican  ladies  attract  all  eyes. 

There  remain  only  the  fractions,  the  small  coteries 
where  the  artists  and  the  literary  men  meet,  but,  with 
few  exceptions,  these  salons,  too,  are  subject  to  the  com- 
mon law.  They  have  been  invaded  by  the  advertising 
craze.  Then  we  have  the  academic  salons,  and  finally 
the  society  of  the  rich  stock-brokers,  lawyers,  notaries, 
who  receive  on  the  same  footing  and  on  the  same  con- 
ditions as  other  so-called  society  people. 

Such  is  a  brief  resume  of  the  elements  of  social  life 
in  modern  Paris — authentic  noblesse,  spurious  noblesse, 
Jews,  Gentiles,  foreigners  of  all  kinds,  millionaires,  ad- 
venturers, artists,  literary  men,  club  men  ;  five  o'clock 
tea  meetings,  visits,  dinners,  receptions,  musical  even- 
ings, balls,  dramatic  evenings ;  variety,  promiscuity,  van- 
it}^  intriguing,  and,  above  all,  curiosity.     But  are  there 


SOCIETY    IN    PARIS  67 

anywhere  in  modern  Paris  select  salons,  where  you 
find  the  company  sufficiently  numerous  to  be  interest- 
ing, but  not  numerous  enough  to  form  a  crowd ;  salons 
where  the  guests  are  in  the  habit  of  meeting  regular- 
ly for  a  long  time  in  harmonious  good  company,  and 
where  they  all  know  each  other  well  enough  to  talk 
freely  without  treading  on  each  other's  corns  ?  Salons, 
in  short,  where  the  guests  feel  a  common  bond  of  hab- 
its, tastes,  and  superior  refinement,  and  where  they  meet 
for  the  pleasure  of  each  other's  society,  and  not  for  the 
satisfaction  of  vanity,  curiosity,  or  interest  ? 

For  such  a  salon  you  will,  I  am  afraid,  seek  in  vain. 
French  society,  with  its  excellent  reputation  of  finesse, 
refinement,  politeness,  and  wit,  has  vanished,  and  with  it 
has  disappeared  the  French  art  of  conversation,  causerie^ 
galanterie,  and  sureness  of  relations.  French  society 
such  as  we  read  about  in  the  memoirs  of  the  past  no 
longer  exists,  and  its  shadow  even  is  rapidly  vanishing. 
The  social  relations  of  modern  Paris  are  superficial,  un- 
stable, and  without  charm.  I  do  not  say  that  they  are 
not  amusing,  for  amusement  depends  largely  on  the 
point  of  view,  and  if  they  are  not  amusing  they  are  cer- 
tainly curious,  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  interesting. 


THE    LIFE   OF    PARIS 


IN  the  spring,  when  the  sunshine  seems  real  once 
more,  and  when  the  air  has  that  tepid  quality  which 
the  imaginative  poet  Thomson  has  celebrated  in  his 
"  Seasons,"  there  is  no  city  more  beautiful  than  Paris, 
or  more  appropriate  for  the  enjoyment  of  curious  and 
meditative  lounging.  Gray  Paris  has  the  first  of  all 
material  conditions  requisite  for  pleasant  fianerie.  It 
is  well  paved.  Thanks  to  perfect  pavements  of  flag- 
stones, wood  and  bitumen,  the  feet  of  the  Parisians 
are  joyous,  and  their  boots  are  clean  and  shiny.  In- 
deed, the  streets  of  Paris  are  so  nicely  washed,  swabbed, 
and  swept  that  the  shoe -blacks  cannot  live  by  their 
unaided  profession  any  more  than  lyric  poets,  and, 
therefore,  unless  they  happen  to  possess  independent 
means,  they  are  obliged  to  eke  out  a  modest  existence 
by  carrying  love-letters  or  shaving  poodles. 

With  its  great  boulevards,  its  urban  parks,  squares, 
and  gardens,  its  avenues  lined  with  stupendous  archi- 
tecture, its  vast  hotels  and  gorgeous  cafes,  its  trees  and 
flowers  and  great  promenades,  its  shops  and  its  restau- 
rants, Paris,  the  Paris  of  Baron  Haussmann,  has  become 
the  headquarters  of  the  luxury  of  Europe  and  of  the 
whole  civilized  "world.  For  luxury  invites  luxury,  and 
if  Paris  had  remained  the  picturesque,  miserable,  and 
prodigious   city  which  Victor   Hugo  has  described  in 


72  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

his  novel  Notre  Dame  de  Paris — the  city  whose  narrow 
streets  and  mysterious  gables  were  impressed  with  the 
tragedies  and  struggles  of  ten  centuries  of  history,  and 
with  the  souvenirs  of  twenty  revolutions,  it  would  never 
have  attracted  those  countless  visitors  from  the  Old 
World  and  the  New  who  are  as  a  rule  neither  poets  nor 
thinkers  nor  artists,  but  who  nevertheless  contribute  to 
the  wealth  and  splendor  which  makes  Paris  what  it  is : 
the  modern  Athens,  or  the  modern  Byzantium. 

More  completely  than  any  other  city  Paris  realizes 
the  ideal  of  the  Atheniari  republic,  full  of  light  and 
joyous  hum,  sung  by  the  poets,  sculptured  by  the  statu- 
aries, idealized  by  the  painters,  employing  for  the  hap- 
piness of  its  children  all  the  resources  of  the  sciences 
and  the  arts,  offering  to  all  feet  alike  its  staircases  of 
white  marble,  and  presenting  against  the  background 
of  a  tranquil  blue  sky  the  pediments  of  its  palaces  and 
its  temples.  The  illusion  is  all  the  more  complete  be- 
cause Paris  seems  at  first  sight  to  be  wholly  given  up 
to  pleasure.  The  number  of  people  of  leisure  in  Paris 
is  so  great  that,  unless  we  made  a  very  thorough  and 
minute  examination  of  the  facts,  we  might  be  tempt- 
ed to  imagine  that  the  emancipation  of  humanity  had 
reached  its  apogee,  that  the  proletarian  had  been  for- 
ever freed,  and  the  iron  arms  of  indefatigable  machinery 
substituted  in  place  of  the  feeble  arms  of  man.  There- 
fore, in  the  sunny  spring  days  we  see  the  citizens  of 
this  modern  Athens  exclusively  employed  in  watching 
the  bursting  of  the  buds  in  the  shady  avenues  of  the 
city,  admiring  the  groups  of  statuary  that  adorn  the 
public  gardens,  or  examining  curiously  the  graceful 
movements  of  the  rarest  exotic  birds  and  beasts  that 
are  kept  for  their  diversion  in  the  menageries  of  the 
republic.  We  see  citizens,  accompanied  by  their  wives 
and    children,  strolling    through    the   galleries    of   the 


THE    LIFE    OF    PARIS  73 

Louvre,  where  the  masterpieces  of  art  of  all  ages  and 
■of  all  countries  have  been  collected  together  for  their 
edification.  Those  who  are  of  a  devout  turn  of  mind 
find  the  temples  open,  and  through  the  fumes  of  in- 
cense they  see  the  walls  decorated  with  sumptuous 
paintings.  On  the  Seine  swift  steam  gondolas  shoot 
through  the  arches  of  the  bridges,  carrying  calm  citi- 
zens to  and  fro.  In  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  the 
fountains  dance  in  the  sunlight,  and  their  basins  are 
not  covered  with  bits  of  floating  orange-peel  or  sur- 
rounded by  dirty  and  expectorating  boys.  In  the 
Champs  -  Elysees  the  black  branches  are  tipped  with 
tender  green  buds  that  give  to  the  masses  of  the  trees 
when  seen  from  a  distance  the  delicate,  powdery  appear-- 
ance  of  pastel.  Spring  has  come.  Paris  has  awakened 
to  a  new  life.  The  city  is  full  of  sunshine  and  flowers, 
and  the  air  is  redolent  with  the  perfumes  of  nature  and 
of  art,  of  violets  and  of  opopanax. 

What  an  incomparable  spectacle  is  that  offered  by 
the  Avenue  des  Champs -Elysees  on  the  first  sunny 
afternoon  of  spring!  From  the  immense  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  with  its  majestic  fountains,  the  obelisk  and 
the  surrounding  lines  of  well-proportioned  architecture 
and  garden  terraces,  up  to  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  on  the 
distant  height,  with  its  outlines  softened  and  idealized 
by  the  blue  silvery  mist,  all  is  animation,  gayety,  and 
splendor.  Under  the  trees  the  bellicose  young  Gauls 
are  building  sand  castles  or  driving  chariots  drawn  by 
teams  of  goats,  while  the  nurse-maids  listen  to  the  soft 
confidences  of  their  attendant  soldiers.  On  the  bench- 
es and  chairs  sit  peaceful  citizens  reading  newspapers 
or  sunning  themselves  with  the  indolent  calmness  of 
a  tortoise  in  a  lettuce-bed.  Near  the  Rond  Point  the 
rival  Punch  and  Judy  shows  represent  before  mixed 
audiences  of  youth  and  age  the  irony  of  life  and  the 


74 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


majesty  of  the  law.  Then  between  rows  of  palaces 
where  the  wealthy  dwell  in  bliss  we  mount  gently  tow- 
ards the  monument  that  celebrates  the  victories  of  the 
great  Napoleon,  the  hero  of  our  own  century,  whose 
glory  seems  already  as  much  lost  in  the  far  and  mys- 
terious past  as  that  of  Achilles  and  Agamemnon.  So 
here  we  are  in  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne,  at  the 
head  of  the  famous  promenade,  Jacob's  Ladder,  as  it 
were,  with  angels  ascending  and  descending,  going  to 
the  Bois  or  returning  from  the  Bois — angels  with  yellow 
wigs,  angels  with  raven  black  switches,  angels  who  wear 
their  hair  in  flat  bandeaux,  like  the  virgins  in  Perugino's 
pictures,  angels  whose  heads  suggest  those  of  the  danc- 
ing maidens  of  Tanagra  or  the  "  majas,"  that  Goya 
loved  to  paint.  With  huge  hats  or  minute  toques,  mere 
oarlands  of  sweet  flowers,  with  grarments  that  seem  like 
a  foam  of  lace  and  frills  emerging  from  beneath  long 
mantles  of  silk,  velvet,  and  brocade,  the  angels  lean  back 
voluptuously  in  elegant  carriages,  and  graciously  ac- 
cord to  mortals  the  calm  spectacle  of  their  various 
beauty  and  of  their  perfect  toilets.  From  the  Avenue 
du  Bois  de  Boulogne  the  throng  of  carriages  leads  us 
to  the  Avenue  des  Acacias,  the  drive  which  fashion  has 
selected  in  preference  to  more  sunny,  open,  and  pictu- 
resque avenues.  And  there  between  the  gnarled  and 
fantastic  trunks  of  the  acacia- trees  the  carriages  ad- 
vance slowly  and  with  difficulty  up  and  down,  dazzling 
the  eye  with  the  radiant  beauty  of  blondes  and  brunettes^ 
of  angels  ascending  and  descending,  the  joy  of  men. 

Mingled  with  the  carriages  of  the  angels  are  the 
carriages  of  mortals,  the  landaus  of  the  noble  faubourg, 
the  victorias  of  club-men  and  ambassadors,  the  carts  of 
sportsmen,  the  buggies  of  adventurers,  the  parade  vehi- 
cles of  all  those  who  are  afflicted  with  momentary  or 
stable  wealth.     On  foot,  too,  may  be    seen   the  young 


THE    LIFE    OF    PARIS  ^'j 

bloods,  the  pseudo- world ings,  the  pannes,  their  eye. 
glasses  fixed,  correct  and  stiff,  lounging  with  weary 
air,  cackling  and  uttering  flute-like  squeaks  of  admira- 
tion as  they  watch  the  horses  and  the  women,  and  waft 
salutations  that  are  never  returned.  The  afternoon 
drive  in  the  Bois  brings  together,  to  see  and  to  be  seen, 
all  the  notabilities  of  fashionable  Paris,  the  celebrities 
of  society  and  of  the  stage,  of  leisure  and  of  talent,  of 
glory  and  of  scandal. 


II 


In  the  programme  of  the  spring  life  of  Paris  the  first 
item  is  the  Concours  Hippique,  a  Horse-show  held  in 
the  Palais  de  I'lndustrie  in  March  and  April,  which, 
perhaps,  renders  more  social  than  hippological  services. 
The  Concours  Hippique  is  frequented  by  mondaines, 
demi-mondaines,  and  fashionable  people  in  general,  who 
utilize  it  for  various  purposes.  Every  afternoon  the 
tribunes  are  crowded,  but  more  especially  on  the  days 
when  gentlemen  riders  and  cavalry  of^cers  compete 
for  the  prizes.  Then  you  see  thousands  of  men  and 
women  of  leisure  watching  the  performances  of  gentle- 
men and  officers  who  force  unwilling  horses  to  jump 
over  artificial  rivers  and  hedges.  Some  of  the  specta- 
tors hold  papers  in  their  hands,  on  which  they  write 
from  time  to  time,  murmuring  "  One  fault  ...  a  quarter 
of  a  fault."  As  it  is  fashionable  nowadays  to  take  an 
interest  in  sport  and  in  all  matters  thereunto  appertain- 
ing, we  are  not  surprised  to  see  the  old  duchesses  with 
saffron  wigs  and  high-grade  mondaines  surrounded  by 
their  marriageable  daughters  just  fresh  from  the  con- 
vent— blond,  lacteous,  lilial  maidens — all  watching  the 
riders,  programme  in  hand,  and  conscientiously  marking 


78  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

with  a  pencil  the  faults  and  fractions  of  faults  com- 
mitted at  the  bar  or  the  water-jump  by  the  aristocratic 
lieutenants  and  quartermasters  from  Saumur  and  Fon- 
tainebleau.  Other  visitors,  however,  seem  to  pay  no  at- 
tention to  horses  or  riders,  but  form  family  groups  of 
papas,  mammas,  and  bony  daughters,  who  are  presently 
joined  by  young  men  dressed  in  their  "  Sunday  best," 
and  extremely  voluble  in  commonplace  remarks  and 
formulae  of  politeness.  These,  we  may  conclude,  are 
discreet  rendezvouses  arranged  by  the  kind  parents  in 
order  to  give  the  young  people  an  opportunity  of  in- 
specting one  another  in  view  of  possible  matrimony.  In 
the  central  reserved  tribune,  upholstered  with  red  velvet 
and  gold  fringe,  may  be  seen  men  and  women  of  high 
degree,  dukes  and  duchesses,  pale-faced  and  fine-feat- 
ured, some  of  them  reminding  one  of  Clouet's  portraits, 
with  their  waxen  cheeks  so  delicately  tinted  with  anaemic 
rose.  These  are  the  members  of  the  great  Hippie  So- 
ciety and  their  wives  and  daughters,  the  descendants  of 
the  Crusaders  and  of  the  warriors  and  nobles  of  the 
past — great  aristocrats,  who  bear  with  diminished  splen- 
dor the  illustrious  historic  names  of  ancient  France. 
Elsewhere,  in  the  corner  familiarly  known  as  the  "  Pare 
aux  cerfs,"  you  see  spectators  who,  during  most  of  the 
time,  turn  their  backs  to  the  spectacle  of  the  arena  and 
seem  to  hang  upon  the  lips  of  garrulous  maidens  who 
look  charming  in  a  perverse  manner,  and  are  general- 
ly blond  like  Milton's  Eve,  blond  like  the  Angels  of 
Dante's  Purgatory,  blond  like  ripe  corn  that  bows  be- 
fore the  breeze.  The  function  of  these  fair  maidens  is 
to  try  the  effect  of  the  more  audacious  inventions  of 
the  milliners  and  dress-makers,  and  to  promote  the  dis- 
tribution of  wealth  by  dilapidating  inherited  fortunes. 
Finally,  amid  the  fair  ladies  of  all  categories,  you  see 
the  celebrities  of  Tout -Paris  passing  to  and  fro,  and 


THE    LIFE    OF    PARIS  79 

giving  the  newspaper  reporters  a  chance  to  note  their 
presence  in  fashionable  gazettes  of  the  next  morning. 

Towards  half-past  five  the  galloping  and  jumping  is 
over;  the  winners  have  received  their  prizes  of  money, 
or  more  platonic  prizes  of  bunches  of  ribbons ;  the  pro- 
gramme is  exhausted,  and  the  spectators  invade  the 
track,  making  slowly  for  the  sortie.  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  hand-shaking  and  saluting.  The  of^cers  salute 
angularly,  and  as  they  replace  their  kepi  they  brush 
forward  their  hair  with  a  mechanical  movement  of  the 
hand.  The  women  take  a  turn  in  the  arena  to  show 
off  their  dresses,  which  were  only  visible  fragmentarily 
in  the  tribunes.  The  "  mashers  "  move  with  difficul- 
ty in  the  crowd,  their  arms  standing  aloof  from  their 
bodies  like  jug-handles,  and  their  legs  put  forward  with 
elegant  hesitation,  reminding  one  of  the  movements  of 
an  automaton.  At  the  doorway  the  men  stand  in  line 
to  inspect  the  visitors ;  some  accompany  their  women 
folk  to  their  carriages  with  marked  assiduity ;  others 
chat  familiarly  with  yellows-haired  damsels  of  engaging 
mien ;  while,  outside,  the  touts  are  heard  howling  in  the 
distance,  hoarsely  and  lamentably  :  "  Le  cocher  Jules  de 
la  Rue  d'Edimbourg  !"  "Le  cocher  Armand  du  Cafe  de 
la  Paix !"  and  in  the  bright  April  sunlight  the  throng 
of  carriages  rolls  up  and  down  the  Champs-Elysees  with 
a  dull  rumbling  that  forms,  as  it  were,  the  bass  of  this 
Parisian  fantasia  of  the  Concours  Hippique. 

After  the  Concours  Hippique  follow  in  the  order  of 
the  season's  events  the  picture  exhibitions  and  the 
"varnishing  days  "  of  the  salons  of  the  Champs-Elysees 
and  the  Champ  -  de  -  Mars,  which  take  place  when 
spring  is  in  all  the  splendor  of  fresh  verdure,  and  the 
chestnut-trees  are  decked  with  delicate  cones  of  blos- 
som. During  May  and  June  the  Paris  season  reaches 
the  acme  of  brilliancy.     There  are  fetes,  balls,  garden- 


8o  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

parties,  and  social  meetings  all  over  the  town  until  the 
season  ends  with  the  great  racing  fortnight,  of  which 
the  chief  incidents  are  the  Chantilly  Derby,  the  Auteuil 
Steeple -chase,  and  the  Grand  Prix  de  Paris.  The 
two  months  that  succeed  the  mitigated  austerities  of 
Parisian  Lent  are  the  hardest  in  the  year  for  the  world- 
lings, who  are  doubtless  quite  happy  in  spite  of  their 
great  exertions,  for,  according  to  the  Ecclesiast,  the  se- 
cret of  happiness  consists  in  work  accomplished  freely 
as  a  duty  — "  Laetare  in  opere  suo,"  as  the  Vulgate 
hath  it.  This  is  the  whole  theory  of  the  worldlings : 
they  make  pleasure  a  task  and  a  duty,  and  rejoice  in 
its  accomplishment.  Towards  the  end  of  the  season 
their  tasks  and  duties  are  multiplied  beyond  concep- 
tion, and  their  joy  in  consequence  becomes  delirious. 
Even  to  read  about  their  doings  makes  one's  head  diz- 
zy— grand  marriages,  soirees  of  betrothal,  meetings  of 
four-in-hand  clubs,  four-thousand-guinea  balls,  given  by 
the  Princesse  de  Sagan  and  the  Princesse  de  Leon, 
amateur  acrobats  and  fancy  riding  at  M.  Molier's  pri- 
vate circus,  play-acting  at  the  "  swell  "  clubs;  receptions 
here,  garden-parties  there,  and  so  fetes  succeed  fetes,  and 
the  days  and  the  nights  are  too  few  for  their  multitude. 
At  last,  however,  the  Grand  Prix  is  lost  and  won,  and 
the  worldlings  cease  to  labor — at  Paris,  at  least.  Aix- 
les-Bains,  Luchon,  Trouville,  the  sea-side  resorts  and  the 
inland  watering-places  invite  their  presence,  and  they 
accept  the  invitation  either  really  or  nominally. 

During  the  summer  months  Paris  remains  the  beau- 
tiful city  of  marvels,  and  although  the  Tout- Paris,  or 
the  Upper  Ten,  are  supposed  to  have  migrated  to  the 
mountain,  the  ocean,  or  the  baronial  hall,  the  city  con- 
tinues to  be  animated  in  a  calm  way.  Summer  is  the 
season  of  that  open-air  life  in  which  the  Parisians  par- 
ticularly delight,  when  the  popular  restaurants  in  the 


THE    LIFE    OF    PARIS  8l 

city  lay  their  little  dinner-tables  on  the  sidewalk,  and 
when  the  restaurants  of  the  Champs-  Elysees  spread 
tables  for  the  weightier  purses  in  the  vicinity  of  plash- 
ing fountains  and  brilliant  flower-beds.  Then  it  is 
pleasant  of  a  warm  and  still  evening  to  dine  at  Lau- 
rent's or  at  the  Ambassadeurs,  and  to  recognize  many  of 
the  notabilities  of  the  capital  as  they  sit  at  the  neigh- 
boring tables,  on  each  of  which  is  a  little  lamp  that 
casts  opaline  reflections  on  the  faces  of  the  women. 
Gradually  the  glow  of  sunset  fades  away ;  overhead  you 
hear  President  Carnot's  rooks  returning  in  loquacious 
bands  to  their  nests  in  the  garden  on  the  Elysee  Pal- 
ace ;  little  by  little  the  mystery  of  darkness  seems  to 
issue  from  and  envelop  the  landscape;  and  then,  by  the 
time  we  have  reached  the  moment  of  coffee  and  cigars, 
we  see  festoons  of  gigantic  pearls  whitening  into  lumi- 
nousness  beneath  the  trees  and  lighting  up  brilliantly 
the  underside  of  the  delicate  green  chestnut-leaves.  A 
few  minutes  later  there  is  heard  a  clashing  of  cymbals 
and  a  flonflon  of  commonplace  music,  dominated  at  the 
regular  intervals  of  the  couplet  by  the  voices  of  singers — 
Paulus,  Elise  Faure,  Yvette  Guilbert — summoning  the 
amateurs  to  the  gaudy  joys  of  the  Cafes  Concerts. 

The  Cafes  Concerts,  the  Cirque  d'Ete,  the  Hippo- 
drome— such  are  the  amusements  of  eleo-ant  Paris  dur- 
ing  the  summer  when  the  theatres  are  closed,  with  the 
exception  of  the  opera  and  the  Comedie-Fran9aise.  In 
September  the  theatres  reopen  their  doors,  and  the  in- 
tellectual and  frivolous  life  of  Paris  is  resumed  with 
renewed  ardor.  The  summer  holidays  are  over.  In 
October  everybody  is  back,  and  the  dramatic  authors 
imperiously  claim  attention  for  their  new  pieces.  It  is 
the  season  of  "  first  nights." 

The  first  performance  of  a  new  play  is  always  some- 
what of  an   event   in   Paris ;   the   French   stage  has  a 

6 


82  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

prestige  that  no  other  stage  possesses ;  the  French  au- 
dience dispenses  greater  glory  than  any  other  Euro- 
pean public ;  those  who  have  not  danced,  sung,  acted, 
preached,  and  spoken  before  Paris  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  have  danced,  sung,  acted,  preached,  or  spoken  at  all ; 
their  fame,  however  great  it  may  be  elsewhere,  remains 
incomplete  without  the  ratification  of  Paris.  Paris,  as 
Victor  Hugo  said,  is  the  starting-point  of  success,  and 
the  anvil  on  which  great  renown  is  forged.  Therefore, 
the  privilege  of  being  present  at  the  "  first  night,"  par- 
ticularly if  the  piece  be  by  an  author  of  supreme  celeb- 
rity, is  highly  esteemed  and  persistently  solicited.  A 
"premiere"  is  in  a  way  a  social  function,  and  constant 
attendance  at  such  ceremonies  constitutes  a  patent  of 
Parisianism.  Certainly  a  "  first  night  "  is  interesting ;  it 
has  the  charm  of  novelty  and  uncertainty,  the  attrac- 
tion of  a  plot  yet  to  be  disentangled,  of  a  witticism  that 
bounds  across  the  footlights  for  the  first  time,  of  a  scene 
that  will  be  the  talk  of  the  town  for  the  next  nine  days, 
of  a  costume  that  will  be  the  fashion  of  to-morrow.  But, 
above  all,  one  is  interested  by  the  house  itself,  by  the 
animation  of  the  lobbies  during  the  entr'actes,  the  exhibi- 
tion of  well-known  faces,  the  presence  of  the  great  glories 
of  literature,  art,  war,  and  politics,  the  avant-scenes  that  re- 
veal the  latest  arrangements  made  between  wealthy  sei- 
gneurs and  distinguished  Cythereans,  the  baignoires  full 
of  mystery,  the  balcony  radiant  with  beauty,  the  whole 
audience  vibrating  with  lively  scepticism  and  with  that 
passion  for  movement  and  life  which  characterizes  the 
elite  of  adventurers,  fools  of  fortune,  and  men  and  women 
of  genius  who  compose  what  is  called  the  Tout-Paris. 

In  November  the  days  are  sad  in  Paris.  The  sun- 
shine is  pale  and  intermittent ;  the  horizon  is  veiled  in 
yellow  mist,  and  the  pavement,  all  black  and  moist,  is 
dotted  with  fallen  leaves,  which  decompose  visibly  into 


THE    LIFE    OF    PARIS  83 

a  bituminous  jelly  suggestive  of  the  slime  of  the  primi- 
tive chaos.  On  All  Saints'  Day,  Paris  remembers  its 
dead.j  In  the  proletarian  cemetery  of  Pantin  and  in 
the  aristocratic  necropolis  of  Pere-la-Chaise,  the  scene 
is  the  same:  a  thick  and  sable-clad  crowd  in  a  land- 
scape lighted  by  the  pale  November  sun;  high-born 
ladies  going  to  pray  in  the  private  chapels  of  their 
family  sepulchres ;  plebeian  women  going  to  kneel  on 
the  viscous  earth  of  the  fosse  commune,  the  common 
grave  of  poverty,  whose  soil  is  turned  so  often  that  no 
grass  has  time  to  grow  around  the  meagre  wooden 
crosses.  In  the  cemeteries  there  are  interminable  pro- 
cessions of  men,  women,  and  children  carrying  bouquets 
and  wreaths  of  immortelles.  Outside  the  cemeteries  the 
wine-shops  and  restaurants  are  thronged  with  mourners 
who,,having  fulfilled  their  duty  to  the  dead,  find  nothing 
better  to  do  than  to  enjoy  life.  "  Let  us  eat,  drink,  and 
be  merry,"  they  say,  "for  to-morrow  we  may  die;"  and, 
after  having  eaten  and  drank,  they  pass  the  afternoon 
at  the  theatres,  where  morning  performances  are  always 
given  on  the  occasion  of  the  great  public  holiday  known 
as  the  Day  of  The  Dead  {Le  Jotir  des  Morts). 

In  midwinter  the  Parisians  of  wealth  and  leisure  con- 
tinue their  normal  existence  with  such  distractions  as 
the  regular  programme  offers — namely,  the  theatres,  the 
opera,  receptions,  and  dinners.  January  is  a  great  month 
for  soirees.  In  January  M.  and  Mme.  Carnot,  both  of 
them  tranquil,  linear,  and  unfailing,  receive  at  the  Elysee, 
and  lavish  official  smiles  upon  guests  whom  they  do 
not  know.  In  January,  in  the  gray  solitudes  of  the 
vast  capital,  the  noctambulant  bachelor  returning  from 
the  club  or  the  comed}^  perceives  here  and  there  a  score 
of  cabs  drawn  up  in  front  of  a  house.  He  looks  at  the 
fa9ade,  and  on  the  first,  second,  third,  fourth,  or  fifth 
story  he  sees  windows  flaming  with  lights,  and  pictures 


84  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

to  himself  the  ignoble  reality  of  a  soiree  with  its  accom- 
paniment of  dancing,  recitations,  supper,  and  marriage- 
able maidens,  of  the  soiree  where  the  women  play  the 
role  of  the  spider  and  the  men  that  of  the  fly,  where  the 
bait  is  called  a  dowry,  and  where  the  spider  is  often  the 
ultimate  victim.  "  It  is  there,"  says  the  recalcitrant  bach- 
elor to  himself — "  it  is  there  that  they  are  suffering,  the 
weak  and  ambitious  brethren,  the  voluminous  mammas, 
the  portly  and  gastralgic  papas  and  the  flat  daughters ; 
it  is  there  that  they  are  dancing  with  occidental  im- 
pudency  in  an  atmosphere  of  fleshly  emanations  min- 
gled with  the  odors  of  face-powder  and  Spanish  leather, 
irresistibly  continuing  the  fatal  saraband  which  ironical 
Nature  imposes  upon  her  victims." 

So,  with  the  aid  of  some  passing  furore  such  as  a 
Russian  or  a  Polish  pianist,  or  two  or  three  phenomenal 
lyric  artists,  the  worldlings  reach  the  Lenten  season, 
when  concerts  are  considered  the  most  fashionable  dis- 
traction from  the  austerities  of  the  hour.  The  period  of 
Lent  is  respected  by  the  Parisiennes — I  mean,  of  course, 
by  the  Parisiennes  of  the  fashionable  category — only 
the  practices  which  this  respect  involves  are  rather  of 
etiquette  than  of  devotion.  The  Parisiennes  are  exact  in 
the  performance  of  ritual  duties,  because  in  these  days 
of  republicanism  it  is  agreed  that  a  woman  who  is  a  free- 
thinker, or  simply  indifferent  in  matters  of  religion,  can- 
not be  distinguished  or  well-born.  They  are  assidu- 
ous in  their  attendance  at  the  lectures  of  Father  Didon 
and  other  eloquent  preachers ;  they  observe  fasts  and 
abstinence  as  much  by  advice  of  their  doctors  as  out  of 
piety;  but  at  the  same  time  they  combine  the  most  deli- 
cate and  refined  menus,  where  sea-monsters  and  costly 
primeicrs  are  substituted  for  meat.  In  the  same  spirit  the 
Parisiennes  hide  their  shoulders  during  Lent,  but  they 
are  none  the  less  exquisitely  dressed  on  that  account. 


THE    PARISIENNE 


PARIS  is  the  city  of  art  and  poetry,  but  of  all  the 
artists  and  poets  that  Paris  fosters  the  greatest  are 
the  Parisiennes.  Nature  confined  her  efforts  to  invent- 
ing the  eglantine,  out  of  which  the  genius  of  man  has 
developed  that  splendid  and  delightful  flower  which  we 
call  the  rose.  So,  as  Banville  ingeniously  remarked, 
the  hazards  of  history  and  social  life  produced  women 
born  in  Paris  or  living  in  Paris,  and  with  these  creat- 
ures as  a  basis  the  Parisienne  developed  herself  by  an 
unparalleled  process  of  remaking,  remodelling,  and  re- 
shaping after  the  pattern  of  some  marvellous  and  un- 
formulated ideal  of  grace,  beauty,  elegance,  and  youth. 
All  women  are  born  distinguished,  according  to  Miche- 
let's  theory ;  whether  they  become  eventually  more  re- 
fined, or  whether  they  lapse  into  vulgarity,  depends  on 
the  surroundings  in  which  they  grow  up.  The  Pari- 
siennes have,  above  all  other  women,  an  innate  gift  of 
synthesis,  and  a  love  of  order  and  rhythm  which  pro- 
duce all  the  graces  and  even  the  sublime  grace  of 
virtue ;  they  fashion  for  themselves  the  kind  of  beauty 
that  they  desire,  even  out  of  the  poorest  materials :  wit- 
ness Rachel,  whom  Nature  made  ugly,  and  art  and  will 
made  admirably  beautiful.  Nature  has  given  woman 
but  about  five  years  of  true  youth  and  beauty,  and  yet 
by   means  of  some  prodigious   magic    the   Parisienne 


S8  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

obliges  her  youth  to  last  thirty  years.  Furthermore,  as 
she  has  a  knowledge  of  everything  by  intuition  and 
without  studying,  like  the  grand  seigneurs  of  old,  her 
conversation  is  in  itself  a  liberal  education. 

The  Parisienne  knows  her  own  worth  and  the  worth 
of  other  women,  for  in  Paris  a  spontaneous  and  impec- 
cable justice  reigns  over  the  souls  of  men  and  women 
alike ;  each  one  knows  who  is  the  true  hero  and  who 
the  amusing  impostor,  and  to  each  one  is  allotted  the 
honor  or  the  contempt  which  is  his  or  her  due.  There- 
fore, it  is  not  the  fact  of  having  been  born  in  some  his- 
toric mansion  of  the  Rue  de  Varennes  that  makes  a 
Parisian  woman  a  princess  or  a  duchess  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  term,  but  rather  the  splendor  of  her  visage, 
the  sincerity  of  her  look,  the  grace  of  her  bearing,  and 
the  beauty  and  fine  proportions  of  her  form.  The  prin- 
cesses of  Paris  come  from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine 
as  often  as  from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  and  they 
owe  their  beauty  as  much  to  their  own  genius  and  to 
the  perpetual  desire  to  be  beautiful  as  to  the  accidental 
gift  of  Nature.  That  magnificent  poetry  of  feminine  life, 
dress,  is  the  creation  of  the  princesses  of  Paris,  whose 
inventiveness  and  taste  in  all  that  concerns  tirins:  enable 
them  to  give  laws  to  the  universe  in  all  matters  of  fashion. 

Who  invents  the  new  fashions  ?  Who  gives  the  mys- 
terious word  of  order  by  virtue  of  which,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  each  season,  we  see  similar  toilets  blossom  forth 
spontaneously  and  simultaneously  in  all  the  places  of 
elegant  resort  ?  How  does  it  happen  that  these  toilets 
are  different  in  cut  and  in  material  from  those  that 
were  worn  in  the  preceding  season  ? 

Formerly  it  would  have  been  easy  to  reply  that  the 
court  was  responsible  for  the  creation  of  fashion,  and 
in  reality  it  was  the  empress,  or  one  of  the  ladies  of  her 
suite,  who  took  the  initiative  of  wearing  some  new  style 


THE    PARISIENNE  89 

of  toilet,  the  result  of  long  consultations  between  the 
lady  herself  and  a  dress-maker  of  genius.  If  the  toilet 
pleased  and  was  susceptible  of  adaptation  to  the  re- 
quirements of  various  types  of  feminine  beauty,  it  would 
be  accepted  by  the  court,  and  from  the  court  it  would 
penetrate  to  the  upper  middle  classes;  and,  if  it  were 
not  too  dear,  it  would  finally  permeate  to  the  ranks  of 
the  lower  middle  classes.  Nowadays,  however,  we  have 
no  court,  and  it  is  certainly  not  at  the  democratic  balls 
and  receptions  of  President  Carnot  and  his  ministers 
that  we  may  look  for  new  manifestations  of  feminine 
elegance.  Nevertheless,  the  creation  of  la  mode  con- 
tinues in  the  same  conditions  as  in  the  past,  only  with 
more  liberty,  and,  perhaps,  with  more  artistic  preoccu- 
pations. The  great  ladies  of  the  imperial  court  have 
not  all  abdicated;  other  great  ladies  have  been  born 
with  the  genius  of  elegance  and  the  gift  of  taste ;  and 
these,  together  with  the  most  elegant  women  of  the  rich 
middle  classes,  the  stage  and  the  demi-monde,  co-oper- 
ating with  the  great  artists  like  Worth,  Felix,  Rodrigues, 
Morin-Blossier,  Doucet,  Laferriere,  etc.,  and  meeting  on 
the  neutral  ground  of  the  salon  cTessayage,  discuss,  cre- 
ate, and  perfect  the  new  fashions. 

When  once  created,  much  in  the  same  way  as  in  the 
time  of  the  empire,  by  the  combined  efforts  of  the  prin- 
cesses of  elegance  and  of  the  dress -makers  of  genius, 
the  new  fashions  are  no  longer  propagated  as  they  were 
of  old.  The  great  vulgarizers  of  fashion  at  the  present 
day  are  the  large  dry-goods  stores,  like  the  Louvre 
and  the  Bon  Marche. 

The  manner  of  proceeding  is  as  follows :  Perdi,  the 
grand  couturier,  creates  a  toilet  for  a  lady  of  reputed 
elegance,  for  one  of  the  princesses  of  Paris.  If  the 
toilet  is  a  success  Perdi's  rivals  will  copy  it  for  their 
customers ;   the  rich  foreign  ladies  who  get  dressed  at 


90  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

Paris  will  introduce  it  into  their  respective  countries  ; 
the  fashion  journals  will  describe  it  and  distribute  en- 
gravings of  it  wherever  they  have  subscribers.  Thus 
far  the  toilet  will  have  remained  the  monopoly  of  the 
half-dozen  grand  couturiers  and  their  Parisian  rivals. 
Now  the  Louvre  and  the  Bon  Marche  enter  the  field 
and  take  possession  of  the  new  model,  provided  that  it 
can  be  copied  at  a  reasonable  price  and  with  cheap  ele- 
ments ;  they  order  enormous  quantities  of  materials, 
imitating  those  used  by  the  artistic  dress -makers;  and 
in  a  few  weeks  they  have  for  sale  at  moderate  prices 
thousands  of  costumes,  resembling  more  or  less,  and,  at 
any  rate  in  the  general  lines,  the  model  created  by 
Perdi  for  his  elegant  customer,  la  belle  Madame  X. 
Thus  the  new  fashions  become  vulgarized,  the  new 
models  fall,  so  to  speak,  into  the  public  domain,  and 
the  princesses  can,  of  course,  no  longer  deign  to  wear 
them.  Thus  the  existence  of  a  princess  of  fashion  is  a 
perpetual  beginning  over  and  over  again.  No  sooner 
has  she  achieved  perfection  in  a  hat,  a  mantle,  or  a 
gown  than  the  vulgarizers  set  to  work  to  make  the  hat 
and  the  mantle  and  the  gown  odious  by  cheap  imita- 
tion and  promiscuous  multiplication.  Thanks  to  the 
colossal  enterprises  after  the  manner  of  the  Louvre 
and  the  Bon  Marche,  the  research  of  distinction  has 
become,  perhaps,  more  difficult  than  it  ever  was,  and  the 
existence  of  a  leader  of  fashion  is  one  of  constant  crea- 
tive effort,  and,  therefore,  comparable  to  that  of  a  great 
painter  or  a  great  sculptor.  In  the  matter  both  of  her 
beauty  and  of  its  adornment  such  a  woman  is,  as  it 
were,  at  once  the  statuary  and  the  block  of  marble. 

The  great  dress-makers,  too,  are  creative  artists  of 
prodigious  genius.  Draughtsmen  and  colorists  at  the 
same  time,  as  the  perfect  plastic  artist  should  be,  they 
produce  compositions  of  incomparable  variety,  ranging 


THE    PARISIENNE  gr 

in  style  from  the  harmonious  puissance  of  the  figures 
of  the  Florentine  frescos,  the  richness  of  Venetian  splen- 
dor, and  the  linear  simplicity  of  mediceval  costume  to 
the  amiable  frivolity  of  Watteau's  gowns  and  the  in- 
finite and  amusing  voluptuousness  of  the  toilets  and 
underclothing  of  the  present  day.  There  are  certainly 
no  men  or  women  more  wrapped  up  and  thoroughly 
absorbed  in  their  art  than  the  Parisian  dress -makers- 
and  milliners,  unless  it  be  the  Parisian  hair-dressers. 

In  the  art  of  coiffure  there  are  masters  who  produce 
works  of  genius,  and  that,  too,  by  the  exercise  of  the 
same  faculties  as  the  plastic  artists.  A  man  like  Au-^ 
guste  Petit,  the  Worth  of  hair-dressers,  is  an  artist  to  the 
tips  of  his  finger-nails,  a  creature  of  refined  sensibility, 
of  acute  and  rapid  perception,  and  of  abundant  crea- 
tiveness.  Above  all  things,  the  coiffure  of  a  woman 
is  a  matter  of  taste  and  sentiment  rather  than  of  mere 
fashion.  The  rank  and  file,  the  mere  operators,  the 
eternal  copyists,  may  be  content  to  dress  a  woman 's- 
hair  according  to  the  models  decreed  by  fashion  and 
published  in  the  special  journals.  The  artist,  on  the 
other  hand,  every  time  he  dresses  the  hair  of  one  of 
the  princesses  of  fashion,  makes  an  effort  of  composi- 
tion and  seeks  a  happy  inspiration,  the  suggestions  of 
which  he  will  control  and  correct  with  reference  to  the 
character  and  expression  of  the  subject's  face,  the  natu- 
ral silhouette  of  the  head,  the  general  lines  of  the  feat- 
ures, and  the  style  of  the  toilet  worn.  In  the  ensemble 
of  the  dressed  woman  the  coiffure  is  the  decorative  part, 
that  completes  and  gives  the  finishing  touch  to  the  rest. 
The  grand  coiffeur,  we  might  say,  has  no  shop,  but  only 
stables.  His  days  are  spent  in  an  elegant  coupe,  which 
transports  the  artist  and  his  genius  from  dressing-room 
to  dressing-room.  In  the  evening  he  drops  in  at  the 
Opera  to  see  how  the  coiffure  of  Madame  la  Marquise 


92  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

compares  with  that  of  la  petite  Baronne  Zabulon.  From 
time  to  time,  on  the  occasion  of  some  great  ball,  he 
makes  a  journey  to  London,  Madrid,  or  Vienna,  for  his 
reputation  is  European,  and  his  talent  is  in  request 
wherever  there  are  manifestations  of  supreme  elegance. 
The  grand  coiffeur,  like  the  grand  couturier,  is  a 
product  of  the  second  empire,  and  of  that  galaxy  of  fair 
or  witty  women  who  were  the  queens  of  the  fetes  of 
the  Tuileries,  Compiegne,  and  Fontainebleau  :  Mme.  de 
Metternich,  the  Duchesse  de  Morny,  Mme.  de  Pourtales, 
Mme.de  Gallifet,  the  Marquise  d'Hervey  de  Saint-Denis 
— those  grandes  vtondaines  who  created  traditions  of  so- 
cial luxury  in  harmony  with  the  amusing,  heedless,  and 
dashing  regime  that  made  modern  Paris,  the  Paris  of 
the  Baron  Haussmann,  the  capital  of  modern  hedonism, 
the  paradise  of  pleasure  and  elegance  which  attracts  ir- 
resistibly all  who  feel  a  thirst  for  existence  in  pleasant 
places.  In  republican  Paris  the  conditions  of  the  dis- 
play of  luxury  are  no  longer  the  same  as  they  were 
under  the  empire,  but  the  traditions  that  animate  the 
artists  of  luxury  and  their  patrons  are  unchanged,  and 
the  leaders  and  marshals  of  fashion  are  still  the  ladies 
of  the  empire.  These  women  made  a  study  of  ele- 
gance and  a  profession  of  beautiful  appearance  more 
complete  and  more  intelligent,  perhaps,  than  any  of  the 
daughters  of  Eve  who  preceded  them  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  they  achieved  a  perfection  of  harmonious 
bearing,  an  originality  of  composition,  a  stylishness,  a 
chic,  to  use  an  accepted  term,  which  has  not  yet  been 
surpassed.  The  secret  of  this  chic  lies  partly  in  the 
peculiar  genius  of  the  Parisienne,  and  partly  in  unfail- 
ing application,  and  in  the  striving  after  absolute  ele- 
gance and  fulness  of  pleasurable  life  in  conditions  of 
material  beauty.  This  ideal  is  sufficient  to  call  forth 
and  absorb  all  the  energies  of  a  woman,  and  only  the 


THE    MARQUISE    AND    HER    COIFFEUR 


THE    PARISIENNE  95 

women  of  genius  and  strong  will  have  the  strength  to 
persist  and  never  to  fail.  Such  a  woman  is  the  beauti- 
ful Marquise  d'H.  de  S.  D.,  who  in  our  illustration  is 
depicted  in  her  dressing-room,  reflected  in  a  triple  mir- 
ror, while  the  most  poetical  and  inspired  of  the  grand 
coiffeurs  of  Paris  arranges  her  hair  for  the  Opera.  In 
the  marquise's  dressing-room  everything  is  thoroughly 
practical ;  there  is  no  useless  decoration,  no  excess  of 
furniture.  On  one  side  of  the  room  is  an  alcove  con- 
taining the  bath  and  the  apparatus  for  all  varieties  of 
douches ;  on  the  opposite  side  vast  systems  of  cup- 
boards and  drawers  for  the  linen ;  on  the  third  side  a 
window  and  the  toilet -table,  and  on  the  opposite  side 
the  triple  mirror.  It  is  simplicity  itself,  a  mere  labora- 
tory. And  what  else  could  it  be  ?  The  secret  of  that 
beauty  which  lasts  thirty  years  consists  not  in  painting 
the  cheeks,  hiding  wrinkles,  and  replacing  lost  hair,  but 
in  having  no  need  to  do  these  things.  The  true  Pari- 
sienne,  as  we  have  been  told  by  the  poet  who  studied 
them  most  deeply,  has  no  dealings  with  dentists  or  with 
those  who  sell  cosmetics  and  false  hair,  and  she  wash- 
es herself  with  pure  water  like  a  nun.  Therefore  her 
dressing-room  cannot  be  other  than  simple,  just  as  the 
studio  of  a  great  painter  is  often  severe  in  aspect  even 
to  austerity,  for  the  toilet  of  the  Parisienne  and  the 
daily  composition  of  her  beauty  are  the  result  of  taste, 
sentiment,  and  inspiration,  even  as  a  picture  or  a  statue, 
and  their  perfection  is  due  to  persistent  and  exacting 
self-criticism.  Thanks  to  this  constant  criticism,  the 
aspect  of  the  Parisienne  is  never  romantic  or  common- 
place, for  she  cannot  be  guilty  either  of  excess  or  of 
neglect.  Her  toilet  is  perfect,  her  coiffure  is  a  poem, 
and  however  surpassingly  beautiful  the  one  or  the 
other  may  be,  she  wears  them  with  absolute  ease,  as  if 
she  had  never  worn  anything  else. 


LE    GRAND    COUTURIER 


THERE  is  no  outside  show;  no  elegantly-dressed 
window ;  the  couturier  is  not  a  simple  tradesman, 
but  an  artist.  His  studio  and  the  studios  of  his  pupils 
and  assistants  occupy  two  or  three  floors  in  one  of 
those  plain,  flat-fronted  houses  of  the  time  of  the  Res- 
toration which  line  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  the  Rue  Tait- 
bout,  the  Rue  Louis-le- Grand,  or  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Honore.  Passing  through  a  'io^-aiX^  porte-cocJiere  2cs> 
broad  as  it  is  high,  you  find  on  the  right  or  left  hand  a 
glass  door  opening  on  a  staircase  covered  with  a  thick 
red  carpet.  On  the  landings  are  divans,  and  sometimes 
a  palm  or  a  drac^na.  Through  an  open  door  on  the 
ground-floor  you  see  the  packing-room,  where  marvels 
of  silk  and  lace  are  being  enveloped  in  mountains  of 
tissue-paper  to  be  sent  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe; 
on  the  first  floor,  or  entresol,  are  work-rooms  full  of  girls 
seated  at  long  tables  and  sewing  under  the  directing 
eye  of  a  severe-looking  matron ;  on  the  second  floor  are 
generally  situated  the  show  and  reception  rooms.  The 
first  saloon  is  sombre:  the  ceiling  appears,  in  the  day- 
time, blackened  by  gas;  the  walls  are  wainscoted  in 
imitation  ebony  with  gold  fillets,  and  large  panels 
above  the  chair -rail  are  filled  with  tapestries  of  the 
most  dismal  green,  chosen  expressly  to  throw  into  re- 
lief the  freshness  and  gayety  of  the  dresses ;  on  the 
chimney-piece,  and  reflected  in  the  glass,  is  a  clock  sur- 


lOO  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

mounted  by  a  monumental  statue  of  Diana  in  nickelled 
imitation  bronze,  flanked  by  two  immense  candelabra ; 
along  the  walls  are  two  or  three  large  wardrobes  with 
looking-glass  doors.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  is  a 
table  for  displaying  materials,  with  a  few  chairs.  To 
the  left,  seated  at  a  desk,  is  a  blond  and  effeminate 
book-keeper;  a  couple  of  salesmen  to  handle  heavy 
rolls  of  stuff,  M.  Cyprien  and  M.  Alexandre ;  the  head 
saleswoman,  a  tall  and  elegant  person  dressed  in  black 
silk  in  summer  and  black  satin  in  winter.  Through 
this  soft-spoken  person,  who  bears  the  title  oi premiere 
vefidetise,  or  first  saleswoman,  the  customers  are  put 
into  communication  either  with  the  great  artist  himself 
or  simply  with  one  of  \\\q  premieres,  or  heads  of  depart- 
ments, if  their  orders  are  not  of  sufficient  importance  to 
justify  an  interruption  of  the  great  man  in  his  innumer- 
able and  absorbing  occupations.  Opening  out  of  this 
first  saloon  are  a  number  of  smaller  saloons,  all  equally 
sombre,  colorless,  and  shabby-looking,  especially  by  day- 
light. There  are  extra  show-rooms  and  trying -on 
rooms,  besides  which  there  is  a  special  room  for  trying 
on  riding-habits,  and  another  for  the  chief  of  the  cor- 
sage department,  to  say  nothing  of  little  rooms  draped 
with  blue,  brown,  or  red  for  special  purposes. 

Imagine  the  appearance  of  these  saloons  between 
two  and  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  during  the  season, 
filled  as  they  are  with  chattering  and  finely -dressed 
ladies  —  Parisiennes,  Russians  with  their  lazy  accent, 
English  and  Americans  talking  in  their  own  tongue, 
princesses  of  the  Almanach  de  Gotha,  and  princesses  of 
the  footlights,  all  united  in  adoration  of  the  idol  of 
fashion.  A  confused  murmur  of  musical  voices  rises 
in  an  atmosphere  impregnated  with  the  perfumes  of 
ylang-ylang,  heliotrope,  peau  d'Espagne,  jonquil,  iris, 
poudre  de  riz,  and  odor  di  femina. 


LE    GRAND    COUTURIER  IO3 

In  the  reception  saloon  madame  la  premiere  vendeuse 
divides  her  attention  between  a  dozen  ladies,  who  are 
looking  at  the  new  silks,  handling  the  piles  of  lace  and 
artificial  flowers  strewn  on  the  tables,  eying  curiously 
half  -  finished  skirts  and  corsages  without  sleeves  that 
lie  in  heaps  oa  the  chairs,  and  chattering  in  strange 
slang :  "  On  est  au  velours  frise  cet  hiver ;"  "  On  n'est 
plus  a  la  faille;"  "Oui,  mais  le  surah  a  I'inconvenient 
de  tirebouchonnerr  In  the  adjoining  saloons  are  seen 
the  demoiselles-mannequins  —  human  automatons,  whose 
business  it  is  to  show  off  on  their  perfect  figures  dress- 
es and  mantles.  With  a  weary,  empty  expression,  the 
■}nanneqtLin  walks  over  the  thick  carpets,  from  saloon  to 
saloon,  like  an  animated  statue,  silent  and  majestic, 
wearing  now  a  court  mantle,  now  the  dress  of  an  Amer- 
ican millionaire's  wife,  now  the  robe  of  a  queen» 

Each  customer  in  turn  passes  into  one  of  the  small 
trying-on  rooms.  The  elegante,  partly  undressed,  and 
wearing  simply  her  corset  and  a  short  silk  skirt  trimmed 
with  lace,  waits  in  front  of  the  looking-glass.  The  dress 
arrives  in  fragments — a  queer  mixture  of  silk,  stiff  mus- 
lin, lining,  and  loose  threads.  First  comes  the  corsa- 
gere,  who  takes  a  regular  mould  of  the  torso  in  coarse 
canvas,  such  as  the  tailors  use  to  pad  coats ;  on  this 
mould  the  corsage  is  built,  and  at  the  second  trying  on 
it  is  brought  all  sewn  and  whaleboned,  but  only  basted 
below  the  arms  and  at  the  shoulder.  Crac!  crac!  The 
corsagere  rips  and  rips  feverishly,  and  then  proceeds  to 
pin  and  lace  and  make  cabalistic  signs  with  a  yellow 
pencil,  cutting  and  slashing  here  and  there  with  won- 
derful surety  of  eye  and  hand.  "  Madame,  sent-elle  son 
corsage.?"  she  finally  asks;  and  if  all  is  right,  madame 
replies,  satisfied :  "  Oui ;  j'y  suis  chez  moi." 

Next  comes  the  jupiere,  charged  with  the  releves  of 
the   skirt   and   the  details  of  the  train ;   and  then   the 


I04  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

specialist,  who  is  charged  with  what  is  called  the  inoji- 
tage  de  la  jupe,  and  who  drapes  the  skirt  on  a  lining  of 
silk,  and  crawls  on  her  knees  round  and  round  the  lady 
for  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  Dress-making  is  one  of  the 
few  arts  in  which  the  subordinate  workers  still  show  a 
certain  amour  propre  and  something  of  the  artist's  am- 
bition. In  their  light-fingered  collaboration  with  the 
imagination  of  the  masculine  couturier  they  delight  to 
produce  masterpieces,  and  spare  no  pains,  especially 
when  they  have  to  do  with  a  woman  of  fine  natural 
figure,  "  toute  faite,"  as  they  say,  and  who  has  not  the 
artificial  "  taille  de  couturiere." 

Meantime  the  voice  of  the  master  is  heard  as  he 
comes  out  of  one  of  the  trying-on  rooms.  He  is  storm- 
ing at  the  premiere  because  a  ruche  has  been  substi- 
tuted for  a  flounce,  and  because  a  "  light -colored  fur 
has  been  put  on  the  mantle  of  the  Comtesse  de  Z.,  a 
delicate  blonde !  It  is  not  the  creation  of  models  that 
is  difficult ;  it  is  to  get  the  models  executed.  I  am  not 
seconded.  The  whole  mantle  will  have  to  be  remade. 
Cest  a  se  donner  au  diable!  Be  good  enough  to  tell 
M.  Cyprien  to  inquire  who  is  responsible  for  the  error." 
And  the  great  artist  passes  into  another  saloon,  where 
several  ladies  are  waiting  in  their  half-finished  dresses 
for  a  word  of  approval  from  the  master,  or  a  touch  from 
his  magic  hand  that  will  perfect  a  seam,  or  crumple  a 
mass  of  tulle  into  a  vision  of  beauty. 

The  final  trying-on  of  the  finished  costumes  is  a 
grand  day  in  the  life  of  our  modern  elegantes,  who  often 
invite  their  friends  to  the  fete,  for  the  Parisiennes  rec- 
ognize in  some  of  their  masculine  friends,  and  particu- 
larly in  painters,  certain  talents  for  appreciating  dress. 
Then  you  hear  in  the  vestibule,  or  in  the  reception 
saloon,  such  orders  as  these:  "  Faites  conduire  Madame 
de   X   pour  I'essayage   de    Madame   de    P,"  or  "  Faites 


LE    GRAND    COUTURIER  IO5 

conduire  M.  de  G  pour  I'essayage  de  la  Comtesse  Z." 
The  Comtesse  Z,  aided  by  one  of  the  young  ladies  in 
black,  puts  on,  first  her  skirts,  which  have  been  cut  and 
made  with  as  much  care  and  skill  as  the  costume  itself ; 
for  it  is  an  axiom  in  modern  dress-making  that  the  un- 
derclothing is  half  the  battle — "  le  dessous  est  pour  la 
moitie  dans  la  reussite  du  dessusT  Then,  having  donned 
her  dress,  she  appears  triumphant  in  the  saloon  where 
her  friends  are  waiting,  the  chorus  of  admiration  breaks 
out,  and  the  whole  staff  of  the  establishment  is  admitted 
to  contemplate  the  masterpiece.  The pi^emzere,  the  c/ie/ 
des  jupes^  the  chef  des  corsages,  the  chef  des  gai^nis senses, 
etc.,  each  in  turn  opens  the  door,  and  with  a  coaxing 
intonation  of  voice  asks  permission  to  enter:  "  Veut-on 
me  permettre  de  voir  un  peu  V 

And  so,  day  after  day  during  the  season,  there  is  a 
perpetual  froufrou  of  silk  and  a  chattering  of  musical 
voices  on  the  staircase  and  in  the  saloons  of  the  strand 
couturier;  and  day  after  day  the  effeminate  book- 
keeper adds  to  the  total  of  the  bills,  which  will  be  paid 
who  knows  when  and  who  knows  how  ?  There  are 
ladies  whose  bills  amount  in  a  year  to  as  much  as  twenty 
or  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  This  is  enormous,  the 
philosophic  observer  may  remark  to  the  grand  artist, 
who  will  reply  in  his  most  delicate  and  fiute-like  voice : 
*'  Mon  Dieu,  oui ;  mais  pensez  done,  je  viens  de  faire 
pour  Madame  de  K  un  manteau  brode  qui  coute  27,000 
francs."  And  hailing  a  mannequin  as  she  passes,  he 
says,  "  Mdlle.  Ernestine,  veuillez,  je  vous  prie,  mettre  le 
manteau  de  Madame  de  K  pour  montrer  a  monsieur 
....  N'est-ce  pas  que  la  ligne  est  belle }  Et  la  tombee 
des  handles!"  And  the  master  falls  on  his  knees  in 
ecstasy  before  his  last "  creation." 

One  might  fill  pages  with  anecdotes  about  the  eccen- 
tricities, the  fatuity,  the  aesthetic  theories,  the  vanity,  and 


I06  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

the  caprices  of  the  great  cotUuriers  of  Paris.  The  type 
has  been  put  upon  the  stage  in  its  grotesque  aspect  by 
Gondinet,  in  his  comedy,  "  Paris,"  and  in  the  Comtesse 
de  Martel's  piece,"  Autour  du  Mariage."  But  the  purely 
artistic  and  the  psychological  aspect  of  the  couturier 
would  repay  study,  and  if  we  had  a  Balzac  living  nowa- 
days the  subject  would  certainly  tempt  him.  Worth, 
Felix,  Pingat,  Roger,  Laferriere,  Pasquier,  Doucet,  Rouff, 
Morin,  Madame  Rodrigues,  are  each  and  all  uncommon 
personalities,  all  great  artists  skilful  beyond  expression 
in  draping  stuffs,  harmonizing  colors,  and  creating  those 
marvels  of  silk  and  lace  and  tulle  which  constitute  the 
inimitable  toilets  of  the  Parisiennes,  the  model  to  which 
the  civilized  world  still  looks  for  its  highest  inspiration. 
The  particular  grand  couturier  whom  I  have  in  my 
eye  is  a  short  man,  dressed  in  light-gray  trousers,  a  blue 
coat  with  a  broad  velvet  collar  and  silk  lappels,  in  which 
are  stuck  a  few  pins  for  use  in  sudden  inspirations, 
a  flowered  waistcoat,  and  a  heavy  watch-chain.  His 
head  is  bald  and  surrounded  by  a  fringe  of  dust-colored 
gray  hair,  frizzled  so  finely  that  it  looks  like  swan's- 
down.  His  whiskers  and  mustache  have  the  same 
fine  and  woolly  appearance.  His  blue  eyes  look  worn 
and  faded ;  his  face  has  flushed  red  patches  on  a  pale 
anaemic  ground ;  his  expression  is  one  of  subdued  suf- 
fering, due  to  the  continual  neuralgia  by  which  he  is 
tormented,  thanks  to  the  strong  perfumes  which  his 
elegant  customers  force  him  to  inhale  all  day  long. 
Epinglard,  for  so  we  will  call  him  for  convenience'  sake, 
rarely  dines  during  the  busy  season :  he  is  the  martyr 
of  his  profession.  He  has  a  house  exquisitely  deco- 
rated and  arranged,  but  he  lives  alone,  his  daily  com- 
merce with  women  having  disinclined  him  to  risk  the 
lottery  of  marriage.  Nevertheless,  he  is  much  effemi- 
nized ;  and  his  employes  will  assure  you  that  he  wears 


LE    GRAND    COUTURIER  IO7 

cambric  nightcaps  bordered  with  lace,  and  a  \3.ce.  J aboi 
on  his  night-shirts.  His  Hfe  is  entirely  devoted  to  his 
art,  and  he  conscientiously  goes  on  Tuesdays  to  the 
Comedie-Fran9aise,  on  Fridays  to  the  Opera,  and  on 
Saturdays  to  the  circus,  because  those  are  the  nights 
selected  by  rank  and  fashion,  and  therefore  excellent 
occasions  for  observing  the  work  of  his  rivals.  For 
the  same  reason  Epinglard  will  be  seen  on  fashiona- 
ble days  at  the  races,  and  at  first  performances  at  the 
fashionable  theatres,  but  always  alone.  In  confidence, 
Epinglard  will  tell  you  that  he  adores  solitude  and  loves 
his  art  with  undivided  and  disinterested  passion.  "  It 
gives  me  pleasure,"  he  will  say,  "to  see  a  woman  well 
dressed,  whoever  may  have  dressed  her.  For  my  own 
part,  I  do  not  care  to  get  myself  talked  about.  I  mind 
my  own  business  and  I  make  my  own  creations,  but  I 
am  perfectly  ready  to  admire  the  creations  of  others." 

Epinglard  talks  slowly,  precisely,  and  in  a  sing-song 
and  hypocritical  voice,  while  his  fingers,  laden  with 
heavy  wrings,  caress  voluptuously  some  piece  of  surah  or 
silk.  He  is  in  serious  consultation  with  one  of  the 
leaders  of  fashion,  the  Baronne  de  P.  Suddenly  chang- 
ing his  tone,  he  calls  out  to  a  model  who  is  passing, 
"  You  there,  mademoiselle,  put  on  this  skirt  to  show 
to  madame."  And,  turning  the  model  round,  he  shows 
the  skirt  in  all  its  aspects,  passing  his  fingers  amorous- 
ly over  the  batiste,  and  seeming  to  give  it  life  and  beau- 
ty by  his  mere  touch. 

This  afternoon  Epinglard  is  in  a  theorizing  mood, 
and,  after  having  sent  for  Bamboula,  as  he  calls  her 
familiarly,  a  dark  -  skinned  model  or  demoiselle  rnamie- 
qmn,  he  drapes  her  in  a  pale  yellow  tulle  dress,  and 
proceeds  to  lament  that  so  few  Frenchwomen  will  wear 
yellow,  owing  to  a  silly  popular  prejudice.  "  Ah,  ma- 
dame la  baronne,"  he  continues,  "  you  cannot  conceive 


I08  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

what  lovely  combinations  of  rose  and  3/-el]ow  I  have 
made.  Why  not?  There  are  roses  with  yellow  pistils. 
Why  should  not  we  do  in  stuffs  what  nature  does  in 
flowers  ?  For  us  couturiers,  as  for  the  painter  and 
the  sculptor,  the  great  source  of  inspiration  is  nature. 
'There  are  many  of  my  colleagues  who  fill  their  port- 
folios with  the  engravings  of  Eisen,  Debucourt,  Moreau, 
and  the  masters  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  this  is 
not  sufficient:  we  must  go  back  to  nature.  I  pass  my 
summer  in  the  country,  and  in  the  rich  combinations 
of  floral  color  I  find  the  gamut  of  tones  for  my  toilets. 
But  I  am  allowing  myself  to  theorize  too  much.  If 
madame  la  baronne  will  be  good  enough  to  come  to- 
morrow, I  will  compose  something  for  her  in  the  mean 
time.  This  afternoon  I  am  scarcely  in  the  humor  for 
a  creation  of  such  importance."  And,  with  a  grave  sa- 
lute, Epinglard  passes  into  a  saloon  where  two  ladies 
are  waiting  impatiently,  particularly  the  younger  of  the 
two,  who  has  come,  under  the  wing  of  her  fashionable 
relative,  to  be  introduced  to  the  gra7id  couturier. 

"  Bonjour,  Monsieur  Epinglard,"  begins  the  elder. 
"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  create  a  masterpiece.  It 
will  not  be  the  first  time,  will  it  ?  My  niece  is  going  to 
her  first  ball  next  month,  and  I  wish  her  to  have  a 
dress  on  which  your  signature  will  be  visible." 

Epinglard  falls  into  a  meditative  pose,  his  elbow  in 
one  hand,  his  chin  in  the  other,  and  looks  long  at  the 
young  girl,  scrutinizing  not  only  the  line  and  modelling 
of  the  body,  but  the  expression  of  the  face,  the  eyes,  the 
shade  and  nature  of  the  hair,  reading  her  temperament 
with  the  lucidity  of  a  phrenologist  aided  by  the  divina- 
tion of  a  plastic  artist  who  has  had  great  experience  of 
feminine  humanity.  The  examination  lasts  many  min- 
utes, and  finally,  as  if  under  the  inspiring  influence  of 
the  god  of  taste,  Epinglard,  in  broken  phrases,  composes 


LE    GRAND    COUTURIER  IO9 

the  dress:  "Toilet  entirely  of  tulle  .  .  .corsage  plaited 
diagonally  .  .  .  around  the  decolletage  four  ruches  .  .  . 
the  skirt  relieved  with  drapery  of  white  satin  falling 
behind  like  a  peplum  ...  on  the  shoulder  —  the  left 
shoulder — a  bouquet  of  myosotis  or  violets  .  .  .  that  is 
how  I  see  mademoiselle  dressed."  And  Epinglard  sa- 
lutes gravely,  while  an  assistant  notes  down  the  pro- 
phetic utterances  of  the  master  for  the  guidance  of  the 
various  executive  artists. 

Hitherto,  in  accordance  with  the  heading  of  this 
chapter,  I  have  spoken  only  of  the  masculine  artist,  of 
the  typical  grand  couturier.  But  there  exists  at  least 
one  grande  couturi'ere  in  Paris,  who  is  as  great  an  art- 
ist as  any  of  her  masculine  rivals,  and  just  as  capri- 
cious and  as  conscious  of  her  work.  This  is  the  fa- 
mous theatrical  dress-maker  who  begs  the  journalists 
never  to  mention  her  name,  adding :  "  Say  simply  the 
first  dress-maker  in  Paris.  Everybody  will  recognize 
me."  This  lady  treats  Dumas,  Sardou,  and  Pailleron 
as  collaborators  and  equals.  Of  Dumas  I  once  heard 
her  say:  "We  understand  each  other,  and  he  finds  that 
my  genius  completes  his.  Recently  I  composed  a  toi- 
let for  Madame  Dumas,  and  in  complimenting  me  upon 
it.  Monsieur  Dumas  said  to  me :  '  Madame,  vous  etes 
le  Meissonier  de  la  couture!'"  (Madame,  you  are  the 
Meissonier  of  the  art  of  dress-making). 

Nothing  can  be  more  amusing  than  the  scene  in  the 
vast  saloons  of  this  great  artist,  who  is  no  other  than 
Madame  Rodrigues  —  we  name  her  for  the  benefit  of 
the  country  cousins  —  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. The  grande  couturi^ere — madame,  as  her  em- 
ployes respectfully  call  her  —  issues  from  her  private 
rooms  and  finds  herself  in  presence  of  a  score  of  ladies, 
not  merely  actresses,  but  society  ladies,  to  whom  she 
has  given  rendezvous  for  that  day. 


no  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry,  mesdames,"  the  great  artist 
will  exclaim,  "  but  I  cannot  attend  to  you  to-day." 

"  But,  dear  madame,  you  wrote  to  me — " 

"  I  must  have  my  dress  for  to-morrow." 

"  My  ball  takes  place  to-night — " 

"  Mesdames,  I  repeat,  it  is  impossible.  If  one  of  my 
assistants  likes  to  take  you  in  hand,  well  and  good. 
That  is  all  I  can  do  for  you." 

Then,  turning  round,  and  perceiving  a  stout  lady 
who  looks  imploringly  at  her,  she  declares,  brusquely: 
"Ah,  madame,  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  cannot 
undertake  to  dress  you.  You  are  not  my  style.  I  do 
not  understand  plump  women." 

"  But,  Madame  Rodrigues — " 

"  If  one  of  vcc^  premieres  cares  to  take  you  in  hand,  I 
have  no  objection ;  but  that  is  all  I  can  do  for  you." 

The  only  thing  that  calms  the  great  artist  is  the  ar- 
rival of  one  of  her  favorite  actresses, 

"  Ah,  bonjour,  madame ;  you  will  have  your  toilets  on 
Friday—" 

"  But  the  first  performance  is  announced  for  Wednes- 
day." 

"  They  must  put  it  off,  then,  for  I  am  not  ready.  We 
will  try  your  dress  for  the  second  act  this  afternoon." 
And  the  grande  couturiere  settles  herself  in  her  arm- 
chair, calls  for  her  footstool,  her  fan,  her  cup  of  beef- 
tea,  her  smelling-salts,  and  so  proceeds  to  preside  over 
the  terrible  and  imposing  ceremony  of  trying  on  the 
dress  of  a  fashionable  actress. 


THE    BOULEVARD 


"Que  I'ete  brille  ou  que  ce  soient  les  jours  tristes 
Je  pense  amerement  au  destin  des  modistes." 


SO  sings  Auguste  Vacquerie,  doubtless  with  cryptic 
allusion  to  the  close  workshops  where  the  milliners 
toil  late  and  early  for  small  pay.  And  yet  the  milliners 
do  not  generally  seem  to  appeal  for  pity  or  sympathy, 
especially  the  young  ones  whom  we  see  promenading 
along  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  at  the  lunch  hour,  de- 
lighting in  noonday  gossip  over  sour  apples  and  fried 
potatoes.  In  familiar  groups,  their  arms  around  one 
another's  waists  they  walk  up  and  down  taking  the  air, 
and  their  appearance  is  one  of  the  first  signs  of  the 
awakening  of  elegant  Paris.  Dressed  in  sober  black, 
cloakless  and  hatless,  often  pale  and  anaemic,  they  have, 
nevertheless,  a  certain  distinction.  In  the  neatness  of 
their  coiffure,  and  the  dainty  fit  of  their  simple  black 
gowns  there  is  an  intimation  of  luxurious  frequenta- 
tions,  as  it  were  a  pale  reflection  of  the  chic  of  those 
hats  and  mantles  and  gowns  which  they  help  to  make 
for  the  great  ladies  of  the  earth.  Their  destiny,  what 
is  \\.}  Modest  labor;  the  possibility  of  rising  to  be 
chiefs  of  their  departments,  corsagere,  Jzcpiere,  chef  des 
garnisseuses,  perhaps  saleswoman,  who  knows  ?  Perhaps 
grandes  couturieres  in  their  turn.  As  they  stroll  along 
the  boulevard  the  little  milliners  may  indulge  reason- 
ably in  the  wildest  dreams,  for  the  ground  that  they 

8 


114  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

tread  upon  is  propitious  to  adventure  of  all  kinds,  and 
a  veritable  nursery  of  struggling  genius  and  obstinate 
enterprise. 

Balzac,  on  the  last  page  of  La  Pere  Goriot,  repre- 
sents his  hero,  Rastignac,  contemplating  Paris  from  the 
heights  of  the  cemetery  of  Pere -la- Chaise,  and  fling- 
ing mental  defiance  at  the  great  city  which  he  means  to 
conquer.  Nowadays  the  challenge  would  be  more  ap- 
propriately made  along  the  boulevard. 

In  Paris  there  are  many  boulevards,  but  there  is  only 
one  that  has  the  peculiar  prestige  which  enables  it  to 
dispense  with  a  name.  The  boulevard  is  the  stretch  that 
runs  between  the  Rue  Drouot  and  the  Madeleine,  and 
even  more  particularly  between  the  Rue  Drouot  and  the 
Opera.  This  thoroughfare  has  a  life  of  its  own,  and  a 
movement  that  is  different  from  that  of  other  parts  of 
the  city  in  ways  that  can  be  felt  by  long  experience 
more  easily  than  they  can  be  described. 

The  aspect  of  the  boulevard  varies  according  to  the 
hour  of  the  day  and  the  point  of  view.  At  the  level  of 
the  Rue  Drouot  is  the  junction  with  vulgarity ;  the  mo- 
ment we  cross  the  road,  and  mount  the  slope  of  the 
Boulevard  Montmartre,  the  change  becomes  marked; 
the  elegant  cafes  are  replaced  by  obtrusive  beer-saloons ; 
the  quality  of  the  shops  and  of  the  passers  seems  differ- 
ent ;  and  the  presence  of  financial  and  industrial  ele- 
ments becomes  marked.  On  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  movement  always  seems  leisured, 
and  the  conditions  inviting.  By  day  and  by  night  the 
urban  landscape  spread  out  before  our  eyes  is  curious 
and  fascinating.  In  the  foreground  we  have  the  types 
of  Paris  and  of  the  universe,  the  private  carriages,  the 
hackney  victorias,  the  gigantic  three-horse  omnibuses, 
the  broad  sidewalks  shaded  with  trees,  lined  with  shops 
and  cafes,  and  dotted  at  intervals  with  tasteful  kiosks 


BOULEVARD    DES    ITALIENS 


THE    BOULEVARD  II7 

for  the  sale  of  newspapers  and  flowers.  Between  the 
soft  perspective  of  trees,  surmounted  by  the  upper  sto- 
ries of  the  houses  and  the  irregular  silhouettes  of  the 
chimneys,  the  road  runs  straight  ahead  to  the  vanishing 
point,  which  is  lost  in  a  maze  of  trees  and  tall  metallic 
columns  that  carry  the  electric  lights.  Everything  and 
everybody  seems  calm,  neat,  and  orderly.  At  the  omni- 
bus station,  where  the  Madeleine-Bastille  and  the  Clichy- 
Odeon  coaches  halt,  a  score  or  two  of  people  are  wait- 
ing their  turn,  each  with  a  number  according  to  the 
order  of  his  coming.  Near  the  omnibus  station  are  two 
great  book-stores,  where  you  may  turn  over  as  you  pass 
all  the  novelties  of  the  day,  and  marvel  at  the  abun- 
dance of  light  literature  which  the  Gaulish  imagination 
evolves.  Here  is  the  Cafe  Riche,  less  famous  than  of 
old ;  the  Cafe  Anglais,  less  sumptuous  than  of  old  ;  the 
Maison  Doree,  the  resort  of  gourifiets  who  are  wealthy,, 
if  not  critical ;  the  Cafe  Tortoni,  where  a  few  famous 
wits  of  the  boulevard  press  are  on  view  during  the 
absinthe  hour.  Next,  on  the  left,  we  pass  the  hand- 
some building  of  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  with  its  beautiful 
wrought-iron  gates.  Then  comes  a  stretch  of  ground 
wholly  devoted  to  concentrated  frivolity  and  intense 
materialism.  In  one  shop  you  will  see  in  midwinter 
strawberries,  peaches,  and  bundles  of  asparagus,  the 
latter  sold  at  three  or  four  louis  each.  In  another 
shop  there  may  be  bought  the  most  tasteful  and  useless 
trifles  that  Paris  and  Vienna  produce.  Elsewhere  the 
eye  is  attracted  by  gorgeous  gowns,  prodigious  fans, 
stupendous  gloves  with  countless  buttons,  huge  bou- 
quets of  orchids,  mountains  of  the  rarest  flowers,  and 
all  the  hundred  and  one  accessories  of  elegant  life. 
Here  are  more  cafes,  among  which  may  be  noticed  the 
Cafe  du  Helder,  a  favorite  rendezvous  of  military  and 
naval  officers  who,  on  their  brief  visits  to  Paris  are  sure 


Il8  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

to  find  some  friend  there  with  whom  to  discuss  the 
latest  promotions  and  the  newest  reforms  invented  by 
their  hierarchic  chief  the  Minister  of  War,  while  in  case 
of  need  they  can  appeal  for  information  to  the  habitues, 
who  are  not  all  army  men,  but  who  have  a  particular  af- 
fection for  all  that  is  military,  and  who  sit  at  the  little 
marble  tables,  drink  absinthe,  and  are  invariably  dec- 
orated. One  may  be  a  retired  captain  with  a  rubicund 
nose,  long,  shaggy  mustaches,  a  goatee  beard,  and  in  his 
button-hole  the  rosette  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  won 
perhaps  by  good  service  in  Africa.  With  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  he  sits  heavily  on  the  red  velvet  divan, 
propping  his  gross  body  against  the  back,  and  never  re- 
movino-  his  rather  rakish  hat  from  his  denuded  skull. 
Another  may  be  a  horse-dealer  or  an  army  contractor, 
whose  sympathies  and  interests  make  him  prefer  to 
drink  his  green  poison  in  a  military  cafe.  A  third,  cor- 
pulent, apoplectic,  faded,  and  sulky,  sniokes  stolidly, 
with  a  cross  expression  on  his  countenance,  his  temper 
having  been  irremediably  soured  by  long  years  of  se- 
dentary ennui  in  the  bureaus  of  the  War  Department. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  is  the  Cafe  Americain, 
where  novelists,  poets,  chroniqtteurs,  literary  men,  and 
painters  indulge  in  aperitifs^  cigarettes,  and  piquant 
talk.  And  so  we  arrive  at  the  Place  de  I'Opera,  from 
which  brilliant  centre  radiate  the  great  thoroughfares 
of  the  Avenue  de  I'Opera,  the  Rue  du  4  Septembre, 
and  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  where  the  milliners,  dress- 
makers, coiffeurs,  and  jewellers  have  their  headquarters. 
Alono-  the  sidewalks  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  of  an 
afternoon  the  coupes  and  victorias  are  drawn  up  in 
double  and  triple  file,  and  in  front  of  Worth's,  Virot's, 
Doucet's,  and  the  studios  of  the  other  great  couturiers 
there  is  a  continual  going  to  and  fro  of  beautiful  ladies, 
whose  presence  has  caused  the  dilettanii  of  fleshly  fair- 


>^    cr. 

f    r. 


THE    BOULEVARD  121 

ness  to  give  the  spot  the  dainty  name  of  the  passage  des 
cailles.  Between  four  and  six  o'clock  the  "  quails  "  par- 
ticularly abound,  passing  from  their  carriages  to  the 
sombre  saloons  where,  in  an  atmosphere  heavy  with  per- 
fumes, the  demoiselles -maimequins,  with  their  faultless 
figures,  promenade,  turn  and  return,  wearing  on  their 
impersonal  shoulders  the  incomparable  creations  of 
world-famous  artists  in  dress. 

West  of  the  Opera  the  boulevard  assumes  a  more 
cosmopolitan  air,  thanks  to  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Cafe  de  la  Paix  and  the  Grand  Hotel,  those  great  cara- 
vansaries of  visitors  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe.  At 
the  little  tables  in  front  of  this  cafe  may  be  seen  speci- 
mens of  all  the  nationalities  of  the  earth  —  Chinese, 
Japanese,  Turks  with  fezes,  Arabs  enveloped  in  volumi- 
nous burnouses,  Germans  with  blond  hair,  Brazilians 
with  yellow  skins  and  flaming  eyes,  Englishmen  smoking 
pipes  and  wearing  absurd  caps;  while  at  the  dinner  and 
supper  hours  the  restaurant  of  the  cafe  is  crowded  with 
high-livers  of  both  sexes,  whose  chief  occupation  is  to 
spend  money  in  places  of  reputed  luxury.  At  the  Cafe 
de  la  Paix  may  be  seen  the  most  magnificent  and  gor- 
geously arrayed  rastacoiCeres  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  by  rastacoueres  we  mean  exotic  people  whose  looks, 
dress,  manners,  and  wealth  are  ostentatious  and  exces- 
sive, and  whose  every  act  and  gesture  is  wanting  in 
measure  and  tact.  The  characteristic  of  Parisian  ele- 
gance, on  the  contrary,  is  its  measure,  tact,  taste,  and 
self-possession.  The  beautiful  Frenchwomen  whom  you 
see  in  Paris,  whether  in  the  streets,  the  restaurants,  in 
the  afternoon  drive  in  the  Bois,  in  the  salons,  or  at  the 
Opera,  however  striking  their  appearance  may  be,  and 
however  grand  the  effort  of  elegance,  never  look  as  if 
they  were  "  out,"  to  use  a  familiar  phrase,  or  as  if  they 
had  "got  'em  all  on,"  to  use  another  vulgar  but  luminous 


122  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

expression.  And  the  reason  of  this  pleasing  phenome- 
non is,  I  imagine,  that  the  French  are,  as  Heine  tells 
us,  admirable  comedians,  and  each  one  plays  excellently 
the  role  that  he  or  she  has  assumed  in  the  spectacle  of 
"la  vie  Parisienne," 

Along  the  asphalt  pavement  between  the  Madeleine 
and  the  Rue  Drouot  that  essentially  Parisian  being,  the 
dotdevardter,  flourishes  and  exercises  his  power  of  glit- 
tering, more  especially  in  the  late  afternoon  between 
five  and  seven  o'clock,  when  the  cafes  fill  rapidly,  and 
the  waiters  hurry  to  and  fro  with  strange  cries :  "  Uii 
Turin  terrasse','  '' Bourn  T  "'Absinthe  anisette  a  Vas^' 
and  other  cabalistic  words,  intelligible  only  to  the  ini- 
tiated. And  here  let  it  be  remarked  that  this  frequent 
mention  which  we  make  of  cafes,  absinthe,  and  aperitifs 
must  not  be  construed  as  being  indicative  of  intem- 
perance on  the  part  of  the  habitues  of  the  boulevard. 
Paris  abounds  in  cafes  of  various  categories,  and  yet  it 
is  very  rare  to  see  a  drunken  man  in  the  streets.  The 
Frenchman  does  not  get  drunk,  he  becomes  lively — or, 
as  he  says,  emn — under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and  in 
such  circumstances  he  is  expansive,  persuasive,  and  sin- 
gularly eloquent.  Frederick  Lemaitre  and  Gambetta 
achieved  their  most  brilliant  successes,  the  one  as  an 
actor,  the  other  as  an  orator,  when  they  were  exceed- 
ingly ^;;^?^.  In  his  younger  days,  I  have  heard,  the  Due 
d'Aumale,  passing  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  the  Clos 
Vougeot,  halted  his  men,  and  made  them  salute  the 
famous  vineyard,  as  being  one  of  the  great  nursing 
mothers  of  French  wit.  But,  strange  to  say,  the  Parisian 
does  not  drink  wine  at  a  cafe;  he  drinks  deleterious  dis- 
tilled liquors,  such  as  vermouth,  absinthe,  various  bitters 
supposed  to  have  merits  as  "  appetizers,"  or  harmless 
syrups  made  from  fruits  or  aromatic  plants.  On  the 
other    hand,  he    drinks   but    small  quantities  of  these 


THE    BOULEVARD 


123 


liquids,  and  that,  too,  so  slowly  that  he  is  capable  of  sit- 
ting for  two  hours  in  a  cafe  before  a  single  thimbleful 
of  liqueur  brandy,  having  thus  paid  for  a  pretext  for 
lounging,  talking,  and  reading  the  newspapers.  In  other 
words,  the  Frenchman  does  not  go  to  a  cafe  for  the  sake 
of  drinking,  nor  does  he  drink  at  the  cafe  for  the  sake 
of  drinking,  much  less  because  he  is  thirsty  ;  he  drinks 
simply  because  he  wants  to  go  to  the  cafe. 

Why  the  Frenchman  wants  to  go  to  a  cafe  is  a  com- 
plex question  which  can  be  answered  only  roughly  and 
incompletely  by  noting  the  triple  attraction  which  the 
cafe  exercises.  First  of  all,  it  satisfies  the  need  of  pub- 
lic life  and  life  in  public  which  the  Latin  nations  in  par- 
ticular have  felt  since  the  Revolution  of  1789;  second- 
ly, it  takes  the  place  of  family  life,  which  the  condi- 
tions of  modern  existence  have  profoundly  undermined  ; 
finally,  it  flatters  a  certain  taste  for  degradation  and 
lowness  which  is  peculiar  to  male  humanity,  and  which 
the  wisest  legislator  will  never  be  able  to  suppress. 
All  men,  it  seems,  feel  the  need  of  escaping  occa- 
sionally from  the  gentle  influence  of  their  women-folk, 
and  of  enjoying  masculine  society  and  masculine  talk  ; 
hence  the  cafe  and  hence  the  club,  which  is  an  out- 
come and  modification  of  the  cafe,  and  the  most  ex- 
clusively masculine  of  all  the  institutions  of  modern 
civilization. 

However,  to  return  to  the  boulevard,  we  may  com- 
pare it  to  a  great  central  hunting-ground,  where  in  the 
late  afternoon  a  curious  tribe  of  men  descend  from  all 
quarters  of  the  capital.  Some  come  in  search  of  wit ; 
some  in  search  of  news ;  some  to  seek  relations  and  in- 
fluence ;  some  to  be  seen,  to  prove  that  they  are  still 
living,  and  to  make  themselves  and  others  believe  that 
they  occupy  a  place  in  Paris.  Many  again  come  simply 
to  see  and  enjoy  that  unique  spectacle  of  varied  move- 


124  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

ment,  life,  and  color,  which  the  streets  and  boulevards 
of  Paris  alone  can  offer.  And  this  is  why  it  is  difficult 
to  define  the  boulevardier,  for  among  those  to  whom 
this  appellation  is  given  you  find  men  of  all  ages,  all 
characters,  all  professions,  and  all  reputations ;  the  only 
bonds  of  union  are  certain  daily  habits,  a  special  lan- 
guage, a  love  of  gossip  and  scandal,  a  peculiar  turn  of 
wit,  and  a  tendency  to  gyrate  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Tortoni's. 

The  pure  boulevardier  is  always  indifferent  and  gen- 
erally selfish,  which  is  not  strange  when  we  reflect 
that  he  is  an  isolated  unit  struggling  for  life  in  the 
midst  of  the  selfishness  and  indifference  of  Paris,  where 
he  daily  shakes  hands  with  a  hundred  of  his  fellows, 
and  cherishes  no  illusions  as  to  the  incontestable  insig- 
nificance of  that  ungraceful  form  of  salutation.  The 
typical  boulevardier  is  a  superior  species  of  Bohemian, 
but  generally  a  Bohemian  with  expensive  tastes,  whose 
existence  is  a  perpetual  problem  which  occupies  himself 
and  sometimes  others ;  whereas  the  existence  of  the  or- 
dinary Bohemian  is  a  matter  to  which  he  does  not  deign 
to  sive  thought.  The  boulevardier  is  somewhat  of  a 
man  of  letters,  somewhat  of  a  lawyer,  somewhat  of  a 
speculator,  more  or  less  an  adventurer,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  a  gambler;  in  short,  the  multiplicity  of  his  ap- 
titudes and  experience  fits  him  for  the  most  diverse  posi- 
tions ;  and  so,  in  Paris,  we  find  boulevardiers  everywhere 
— in  the  clubs,  in  the  newspaper  offices,  in  the  directing 
boards  of  financial  administrations,  in  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  and  in  official  situations  of  all  kinds.  Among 
the  boulevardiers  whom  one  sees  every  night  taking 
their  absinthe  or  their  bitters  and  gossiping  on  the 
sidewalk  there  are  twenty  men  of  rare  wit.  The  others 
are  more  or  less  skilful  workmen  who  paint,  sing,  write, 
or  talk  with  a  certain  technical  excellence,  but  who  are 


THE    BOULEVARD  I  27 

wanting  in  originality,  and  who  are  mere  parasites,  living 
on  the  crumbs  of  wit,  experience,  and  practical  cynicism 
that  the  leaders  let  fall  from  their  table. 

Some  observers  pretend  that  the  palmy  days  were 
those  of  the  Second  Empire,  when  the  boulevardier — 
sleek,  witty,  elegant,  and  gallant — lived  in  the  midst  of 
the  ambient  luxury,  heedless  of  politics  and  vulgar 
cares.  After  187 1  politics  invaded  all  Paris,  and  the 
habitues  -of  Tortoni  had  to  choose  an  opinion.  The 
first  tendency  of  the  botikvardiers  was  in  favor  of  the 
Comte  de  Chambord  and  the  white  flag ;  then,  veering 
with  success,  they  turned  towards  Gambetta,  thanks  to 
whom  many  of  the  veterans  now  hold  official  positions. 
As  for  the  young  generation,  say  the  critics,  it  includes 
few  genuine  boulevardiers  of  the  old  style,  and  in  the 
bustle  and  promiscuity  of  triumphant  democracy,  the 
asphalt  of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  is  losing  its 
stamp  of  adventurous  elegance  and  intelligent  exclu- 
siveness.  However,  it  is  always  prudent  to  mistrust  the 
praisers  of  the  past,  especially  in  France  where  the  pres- 
tige of  the  book  and  the  printed  picture  is  so  great. 
The  boulevard,  such  as  Balzac  has  described  it,  proba- 
bly never  existed  any  more  than  the  Latin  Quarter 
such  as  it  was  depicted  by  Murger  in  his  Scenes  de 
la  Vie  de  Boheme  and  by  Gavarni  in  his  witty  litho- 
graphs. 

For  those  who  have  eyes  to  see  the  boulevard  of 
to-day  is  quite  as  curious,  as  suggestive,  and  as  rich  in 
types  as  it  was  when  the  wits  of  the  First  Empire  used 
to  assemble  at  Tortoni's  to  comment  upon  the  bulletins 
of  the  Grand  Army,  or  when,  at  a  later  date,  young 
Monsieur  Thiers  used  to  ride  up  on  a  white  horse  to 
the  famous  little  cafe  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Tait- 
bout,  stay  just  long  enough  to  eat  an  ice,  and  then 
quick  to  the  saddle  again,  and  en  route  for  fortune. 


128  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

From  the  point  of  view  of  urban  landscape  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens  is  unique  in  the  world,  with  its  over- 
hanging trees  between  endless  lines  of  houses,  and 
its  perspective  of  luminous  kiosks,  green  benches,  and 
tall  advertising  columns  crowned  by  rings  of  gas-jets 
which  light  up  the  many -colored  patchwork  of  play- 
bills announcing  the  amusements  of  the  evening.  Yet 
another  delightful  and  perhaps  grander  part  of  the 
boulevard  is  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine  with  its  two 
quiet  corners  where  the  fountains  play,  and  the  trees 
give  grateful  shade  to  those  who  sit  beneath  them  and 
dream  of  fairer  fortunes.  At  one  corner  is  Durand's 
and  at  the  other  Larue's,  both  favorite  restaurants  with 
the  worldlings.  From  Durand's  corner  .the  view  em- 
braces the  classic  columns  of  the  Church  of  the  Made- 
leine, the  magnificent  avenue  of  the  Boulevard  Male- 
sherbes  with  the  dome  of  the  Church  of  Saint  Augustin 
closing  the  perspective,  and  to  the  left  the  broad  Rue 
Royale  and  the  vast  Place  de  la  Concorde.  By  day  and 
by  night  the  spectacle  here  is  always  interesting;  there 
is  no  better  coign  of  vantage  for  studying  character  and 
comparative  elegance  than  one  of  the  little  tables  out- 
side Durand's ;  and  there  is  no  spot  along  the  boule- 
vard where  the  combined  effects  of  nature  and  of  art, 
of  moonlight  on  architecture  and  verdure,  of  electric 
light  and  gas  upon  white  fa9ades  and  swiftly- passing 
carriages,  can  be  better  observed  than  on  this  broad 
and  open  space  with  its  canopy  of  mysterious  blue  sky. 

Apart  from  the  interest  of  the  types  of  humanity 
that  one  sees  on  the  boulevard  between  sunset  and 
midnight  and  later,  this  detail  of  the  curious  effects  of 
light  always  seems  to  me  to  be  of  singular  fascination. 
To  attempt  to  describe  their  variety  would  be  hopeless : 
the  more  completely  the  eye  becomes  trained  the  more 
manifold   the    phenomena    that    it    observes.      On   the 


OPERA— WET    NIGHT 


THE    BOULEVARD  13I 

pavement,  on  the  trees,  on  the  houses,  on  the  people, 
there  is  a  constant  play  of  light  and  of  reflections  that 
defy  analysis  —  light  from  electric  globes,  from  gas- 
lamps,  from  the  shop -windows,  from  the  kiosks,  from 
the  colored  lanterns  of  the  passing  cabs,  from  the  cor- 
dons of  gas-jets  on  the  fagades  of  the  theatres,  from  the 
stars,  from  the  moon.  The  very  air  of  the  boulevard 
presents  phenomena  that  one  does  not  notice  else- 
where. In  the  early  morning  it  is  pearly  gray ;  at 
noon  it  is  brilliant  blue;  in  the  late  afternoon  it  be- 
comes brownish  through  the  floating  dust  which  the 
sunset  gilds  and  reddens  ;  and  then  at  night  again  it 
becomes  blue,  violet,  or  orange,  according  to  the  tone 
of  the  masses  which  the  eye  selects  for  comparison. 
In  foul  weather  as  in  fair  the  variety  persists,  and  there 
is  no  more  curious  picture  for  a  painter  to  essay  than 
the  Place  de  I'Opera  on  a  pitilessly  rainy  night  with 
the  Gardes  de  Paris  sitting  on  their  horses,  useless  sen- 
tries in  front  of  the  Opera-house ;  the  movement  of  the 
cabs  depositing  the  visitors  at  the  foot  of  the  perron, 
the  voyous  that  run  to  open  the  carriage  doors  ;  the  hur- 
rying up  the  steps  amid  battling  umbrellas,  and  the 
pelting  rain  splashing  on  the  pavement  and  forming 
pools  that  glisten  with  the  sheeny  reflections  of  the 
electric  light. 

On  the  boulevard  with  its  newspapers,  its  book- 
stores, its  theatres,  its  cafes,  its  wits,  its  celebrities,  its 
adventurers,  and  all  the  kaleidoscopic  movement  of 
men  and  things  that  animate  it  from  morning  until 
morning  comes  again,  one  appreciates  that  quality  of 
modernity  which  characterizes  Paris  above  all  other 
cities.  In  other  capitals  where  the  fortunes  of  a  nomad 
existence  and  a  moderate  gift  of  tongues  have  enabled 
me  to  live  and  comprehend  the  local  life,  I  have  never 
found  anything  equivalent  to  the  life  of  the  boulevard, 


132  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

which  is  the  quintessence  of  the  Kfe  of  Paris.  For  the 
peculiarity  of  Paris  is  that  it  is  being  constantly  re- 
newed ;  it  is  not  oppressed  by  history  or  hampered  by 
an  obtrusive  past.  There  is  an  old  Paris,  it  is  true ; 
one  sees  it  and  loves  it,  but  it  is  so  discreet  that  one 
has  to  seek  it  out.  The  present  of  Paris  alone  pre- 
dominates. The  vapory  regions  of  souvenir  and  of 
presentiment  are  not  willingly  frequented  by  those 
who  speak  the  French  of  Paris,  and  who  live  in  the 
brilliant  sunshine  of  the  present  a  life  of  intensity  and 
ardor,  here  and  now,  upon  the  principle  that  life  is  the 
end  of  life. 


THE    DUELLISTS 


"Honor  pricks  me  on.  Yea,  but  how  if  honor  prick  me  off  when  I  come  on  ? 
how  then  ?  Can  honor  set  to  a  leg  ?  No.  Or  an  arm  ?  No.  Or  take  away  the 
grief  of  a  wound  ?  No.  Honor  hath  no  skill  in  surgery  then  ?  No.  What  is 
honor  ?  A  word.  What  is  that  word  ?  .  .  .  Air.  .  .  .  Who  hath  it  ?  He  that 
died  o'  Wednesday.  Doth  he  feel  it  ?  No.  Doth  he  hear  it  ?  No.  .  .  .  Honor 
is  a  mere  scutcheon,  and  so  ends  my  catechism." — Falstaff,  in  Henry  IV. 

T  is  not  to  the  credit  of  the  French  press,  but 
it  is  a  striking  sign  of  the  times,  that  while 
you  seek  in  vain  in  the  Parisian  newspapers 
for  three  Hnes  of  honest  criticism  on  a  new 
book,  you   will   find   columns   of   letter- 
press devoted  to  the  daily  chronicle  of 
the  race-courses  and  the  salles  d'armes. 
Never  has  the  art  of  fencing  been  taught 
in  France  with  more  science,  and  learned 
with  greater  avidity,  than  at  the  present 
day ;  and  perhaps  never  since  the  times 
of  Richelieu  and  the  Fronde  has  duelling 
been  more  common  in  France.     Doubt- 
less the  light  shafts  of  satire  have  an  easy 
butt  in  many  a  Parisian  duel ;  still,  when 
we  come  to  think  that,  in   spite  of  the 
successive   and   severe   edicts  of   Henry 
IV.,  Cardinal  Richelieu,  and  Louis  XIV., 
in  spite  of  the   eloquent  condemna- 
tion   of    Rousseau    and    Voltaire,  in 
\     spite  of  the  prohibition  of  law  and 


136  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

of  religion,  duelling  has  remained,  since  the  sixteenth 
century,  not  only  tolerated  but  often  approved  of  by 
public  opinion,  we  may  find  it  interesting  to  examine 
the  matter  seriously,  to  seek  the  explanation  of  this 
curious  survival  of  the  practices  of  chivalry  in  this  pro- 
saic nineteenth  century,  and  to  define  precisely  the  role 
which  duelling  plays  in  modern  French  society. 

France  always  has  been  the  great  country  for  duels, 
and  although  the  French  are  not  the  only  people  who 
fight  duels,  they  are  certainly  far  more  ready  to  draw 
their  swords  than  the  Italians,  the  Austrians,  the  Ger- 
mans, or  the  Russians,  who  are  likewise  under  the 
tyranny  of  the  institution  of  duelling.  The  French 
have  always  been  proverbial  for  their  keen  sense  of 
honor,  their  susceptibility,  and  their  pugnacity;  and  in 
seeking  the  explanation  of  the  survival  of  duelling  these 
points  must  not  be  forgotten. 

The  main-spring  and  basis  of  duelling  is  the  "  point 
of  honor,"  the  conception  of  which  varies,  not  only  with 
circumstances,  but  with  the  times.  Compare,  for  in- 
stance, Brantome's  recommendations  with  the  modern 
code  of  duelling  as  laid  down  by  Chateauvillard  or  by 
Du  Verger  de  Saint-Thomas.  Brantome  says  in  a 
curious  passage :  "  The  combatants  ought  to  be  care- 
fully searched  and  examined  in  order  to  find  out  wheth- 
er they  have  any  drugs,  enchantments,  or  spells  on  their 
person.  Relics  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  and  other 
holy  things  may  be  worn."  In  his  duel  with  M.  Paul 
de  Cassagnac,  who  had  challenged  him  on  account  of 
an  article  which  he  had  written  insulting  the  memory  of 
Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  M.  Rochefort  owed  his  life  to 
the  interposition  of  a  medal  which  a  female  friend  had 
attached  to  his  waistband  without  his  knowledge.  The 
duel  was  fought  with  pistols,  and  M.  De  Cassagnac  said 
to  one  of  his  seconds,  "  You  will  see  I  will  lodge  my 


FENCING-ROOM 


bullet  in  his  waist ;  his  coat  floating  in  the  wind  gives 
me  a  mark."  M.  De  Cassagnac  aimed  as  he  said ; 
Rochefort  fell,  struck  at  the  point  indicated.  The  doctor 
rushed  up,  thinking  him  dead,  and  drew  out  from  be- 
hind the  waistband  the  medal  of  the  Virgin.  The  ball 
had  gone  through  the  medal,  but  the  resistance  had 
caused  it  to  deviate  and  merely  graze  the  loins  instead 
of  transpiercing  the  body.  M.  Rochefort  had  escaped 
miraculously.  In  the  Univers  of  the  next  day,  Louis 
Veuillot,  alluding  to  a  sonnet  to  the  Virgin  with  which 
M.  Rochefort  had  won  the  prize  at  some  jeux  fioraitx^ 
or  poetical  tournament,  in  his  younger  days,  wrote  these 
lines :  "  The  Virgin  owed  you  that,  Monsieur  Roche- 
fort; but  take  care  in  future,  for  you  are  now  quits." 


138  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

Nowadays  there  is  no  end  to  the  talk  about  the  loy- 
alty and  courtesy  of  the  combat.  "  There  must  be  no 
talk  of  courtesy,"  says  Brantome ;  "  he  who  enters  the 
lists  ought  to  be  determined  to  conquer  or  to  die,  and 
above  all  not  to  surrender;  for  the  victor  disposes  of 
the  vanquished  as  he  pleases:  for  example,  he  may 
drag  him  round  the  lists,  hang  him,  burn  him,  hold  him 
prisoner,  or  dispose  of  him  as  a  slave."  Horrible  bar- 
barity !  Rules  of  a  savage  epoch,  the  moderns  will  say. 
What  will  people  two  centuries  hence  say  of  the  mod- 
ern code  of  honor  .f^ 

What  is  the  modern  Frencli  code  of  honor?  What 
is  the  point  of  honor?  In  practice  we  find  that  French- 
men fight  on  account  of  a  contradiction,  a  giving  of  the 
lie,  a  word,  a  look  even,  as  well  as  for  graver  reasons. 
A  duel  has  come  to  be  the  almost  obligatory  termina- 
tion of  literary  and  political  polemics,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  honor  and  the  point  of  honor  have  had  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  many  a  rencounter  of  recent  years. 
There  has  been  an  abuse  of  duelling ;  the  practice  has 
been  distorted  from  its  primitive  and  solemn  signifi- 
cance ;  it  has  become  a  fashion,  almost  a  sport,  a  means 
for  tarnished  or  tarnishing  reputations  to  get  white- 
washed, and  above  all  a  manoeuvre  for  obtaining  noto- 
riety, especially  among  journalists  and  politicians. 

Indeed,  duels  between  journalists  and  politicians  are 
so  entirely  special  in  their  nature  and  meaning  that  we 
may  as  well  speak  of  them  separately.  First  of  all,  let 
us  thoroughly  comprehend  that  these  duels  are  simply 
the  result  of  professional  necessities  or  prejudices,  and 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  adversaries  fight  merely  for 
the  gallery — -pour  la  galerie — and  for  the  sake  of  public 
opinion.  The  journalists  and  politicians  are  in  a  meas- 
ure the  gladiators  of  Paris,  and  if  they  do  not  prove 
themselves  good  gladiators,  they  are  liable  to  be  hissed, 


THE    DUELLISTS  1 39 

howled  at,  harried,  and  worried  until  life  becomes  unen- 
durable. In  the  career  of  a  French  politician  or  jour- 
nalist a  duel  is  obligatory.  Even  Gambetta  had  to 
fight.  The  reader  may  remember  the  duel  with  pistols 
which  took  place  at  Plessis- Piquet,  on  the  plain  of 
Chatillon,  in  November,  1878,  between  Gambetta  and 
the  Bonapartist  minister,  M.  De  Fourtou.  The  adver- 
saries exchanged  pistol-shots  without  effect,  and  an 
American  humorist  wrote  a  comic  account  of  the  lethal 
meeting  for  the  amusement  of  his  countrymen.  How- 
ever, in  spite  of  Mr.  Mark  Twain's  droll  satire,  this  duel 
was  perfectly  serious.  The  testimony  of  M.  Clemenceau 
and  M.  AUain-Targe,  who  were  the  seconds  of  Gambetta, 
of  M.  Robert  Mitchell  and  M.  Blin  de  Bourdon,  who 
were  the  seconds  of  M.  De  Fourtou,  and  the  testimony 
of  M.  Ranc,  of  Dr.  Lannelongue,  and  of  all  the  friends 
of  Gambetta,  is  sufiEicient  to  establish  that  fact. 

The  cause  of  the  duel  was  an  exclamation  of  Gam- 
betta during  the  sitting  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  on 
November  18,  1878 — "  It  is  a  lie!"("  C'est  un  mensonge, 
M.  le  Ministre !")  These  words  were  addressed  to  M. 
De  Fourtou,  who  was  making  a  speech  to  the  Chamber. 
To  say  that  this  exclamation  was  premeditated  would 
perhaps  be  going  too  far;  it  would  be  truer  to  say  that 
Gambetta  seized  the  opportunity  of  uttering  it  with  joy ; 
he  was  only  waiting  for  an  occasion  to  pick  a  quarrel. 
For  some  time  past  the  violence  of  the  Bonapartists  had 
been  increasing;  their  insults  in  the  press  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  virulent;  and  during  one  of  his 
speeches  Gambetta  had  been  interrupted  by  M.  Paul  de 
Cassagnac  nearly  a  hundred  times.  It  was  in  order  to 
put  a  stop  to  this  abuse  and  interruption  that  Gambetta 
determined  to  fight  a  duel  with  a  prominent  member  of 
the  Bonapartist  party.  It  was  necessary  to  secure  his 
political  position,  as   Gambetta  himself  said,  when   his 


140  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

friends  reproached  him  with  thus  risking  his  hfe.  And 
in  point  of  fact  the  duel  had  the  desired  effect ;  it 
gained  the  respect  of  the  Bonapartists. 

After  having  given  the  He  to  M.  De  Fourtou,  Gam- 
betta  left  the  sitting,  and  went  to  look  for  M.  Clemen- 
ceau  in  the  lobbies  of  the  Chamber.  Gambetta  asked 
M.  Clemenceau  to  act  as  his  second,  but  the  latter  re- 
fused, not  caring  to  accept  the  responsibility  of  such  an 
affair,  for,  naturally,  had  anything  serious  happened  to 
Gambetta,  the  seconds  would  have  had  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  public  blame.  However,  Gambetta  insisted. 
"  If  you  refuse,"  he  said  to  M.  Clemenceau, "  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  find  a  single  man  to  serve  as  my  second. 
Thiers  fought  a  duel.  I  must  fight,  too."  Finally,  M. 
Clemenceau  accepted,  and  it  was  he  who  arranged  the 
whole  affair,  charged  the  pistols,  and  gave  the  word  of 
command — "Feu!  un,  deux,  trois  !"  The  adversaries 
were  placed  at  a  distance  of  thirty  paces  in  an  open 
space  on  the  plain  of  Chatillon,  where  there  was  neither 
tree  nor  house  nor  any  object  in  sight  of  importance 
enough  to  guide  the  aim ;  the  silhouettes  of  the  com- 
batants stood  out  against  a  perfectly  clear  sky,  for  the 
report  that  the  duel  was  fought  in  a  fog  is  untrue ;  the 
pistols  were  charged  with  the  regular  quantity  of  pow- 
der and  with  regular  bullets  by  M.  Clemenceau  himself. 
M.  Clemenceau  chose  pistols  as  the  arms  of  his  princi- 
pal, for  the  simple  reason  that  he  did  not  consider  Gam- 
betta to  have  sufiicient  agility  to  fight  with  swords.  As 
for  distance,  M.  Clemenceau  had  at  first  proposed  thirty- 
five  paces,  but  the  seconds  of  M.  De  Fourtou  suggested 
thirty.  Gambetta  himself  would  have  fought  at  five  or 
ten  paces,  had  his  seconds  ordered  him  to  do  so ;  but 
there  was  an  excellent  reason  for  separating  the  adver- 
saries by  as  great  a  distance  as  possible — namely,  the 
fact  that  Gambetta  was  a  very  large  man  and  M.  De 


THE    DUELLISTS  .  I43 

Fourtou  a  slender  man.  Now,  supposing  the  adver- 
saries fired  at  a  distance  of  five  paces,  the  slender  man 
would  have  a  larger  target  than  the  large  man;  at  ten 
paces  the  slender  man's  advantage  would  be  lessened, 
and  so  on ;  the  greater  the  distance  between  the  com- 
batants, the  more  equal  their  chances  became,  as  far  as 
concerned  the  target  to  be  aimed  at.  As  it  is  one  of 
the  chief  duties  of  the  seconds  to  equalize  the  chances 
of  the  combatants,  and  to  compensate  for  each  one's  ad- 
vantage or  disadvantage,  M.  Clemenceau  was  right  in 
demanding  thirty-five  paces  and  accepting  thirty.  It 
has,  I  know,  been  objected  that  the  pistols  ordinarily 
used  in  duelling  would  not  carry  thirty  paces.  In  reply 
to  this  objection  I  may  cite  a  duel  fought  in  1878  be- 
tween M.  De  la  Rochette,  a  Conservative  Deputy,  and 
M.  Laisant,  a  Deputy  of  the  Left.  The  arms  were 
pistols;  the  distance  thirty-five  paces.  M.  De  la  Ro- 
chette was  struck  in  the  thigh  by  a  ball  which  had  force 
enough  to  transpierce  him,  and  he  died  shortly  after- 
wards of  his  wounds.  M.  Laisant  was  struck  in  the  re- 
gion of  the  heart,  and  his  life  was  only  saved  by  the 
floating  of  his  overcoat  in  the  wind,  which  deadened  the 
impetus  of  the  bullet. 

In  duels  of  this  kind  the  questions  of  honor  and  of 
persons  fall  entirely  into  the  background.  I  will  men- 
tion as  an  instance  the  duel  with  swords  fought  near 
Paris  on  October  10,  1884,  between  M.  Henri  Roche- 
fort  and  Commander  Fournier,  the  author  of  a  treaty 
between  France  and  Tonquin,  which  was  hotly  dis- 
cussed by  the  French  press.  Rochefort  wrote  a  smart 
and  ironical  article  on  the  commander  in  his  newspaper 
L' Intransigeant.  The  commander  demanded  explana- 
tions ;  M.  Rochefort  refused ;  a  duel  was  arranged,  and 
both  combatants  were  slightly  wounded.  Thereupon 
Commander  Fournier  and  M.  Rochefort  shook  hands, 


144 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


and  the  latter  said  to  his  adversary:  "It  was  neither 
the  man  nor  the  naval  officer  that  I  attacked  in  your 
person,  but  simply  the  functionary  of  M.  Ferry."  This 
method  of  combating  a  ministry  whose  opinions  one 
does  not  share  is  certainly  curious ;  but  it  is  neverthe- 
less a  fact  that  nowadays  both  in  French  politics  and 
in  French  journalism  lethal  weapons  have  to  be  recog- 
nized as  the  auxiliaries  of  the  tribune  and  the  pen. 

On  this  point  here  is  an  interesting  letter  which  M. 
Henri  Rochefort  wrote  to  me  some  years  ago,  contain- 
ing in  brief  his  opinion  on  duelling : 

"  Paris,  October  i,  1884. 
"  Monsieur  et  cher  confrere: 

"  Duelling,  the  absurdity  of  which  is  evident,  is  a  product  of  Catholi- 
cism. The  believers  of  former  times  imagined  naively  that  the  victor 
was  in  the  right,  and  that  the  vanquished  was  in  the  wrong,  because 
both  had  undergone  the  judgment  of  God. 

"  The  atheists  of  the  present  day  cannot  consider  the  duel  as  any- 
thing but  the  demonstration  of  their  bravery  or  of  their  sincerity.  When 
a  man  fights,  he  as  good  as  says  that  he  is  ready  to  risk  his  life  to  sup- 
port his  opinions.  But  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  in  most  cases  a  hos- 
tile meeting  is  simply  a  repetition  of  M.  De  Bismarck's  maxim, '  La  force 
prime  le  droit,'  inasmuch  as  it  is  the  best  swordsman  or  the  best  shot  who 
gets  the  upperhand. 

"  However,  this  kind  of  exercise  has  now  entered  so  profoundly  into 
our  habits  that,  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  it,  there  would  be  needed  noth- 
ing less  than  a  new  Richelieu  to  have  the  two  adversaries  decapitated, 

"  Receive,  etc. 

"  Henri  Rochefort." 

As  for  the  vast  majority  of  duels  between  journalists 
in  Paris,  they  are  confessedly  absurd.  Two  writers 
carry  on  a  controversy  in  their  respective  journals  for 
a  few  days ;  then  suddenly  one  ceases  to  discuss  the 
other's  assertions,  and  calls  him  a  "  blackguard,"  or  a 
"  coward,"  or  an  "  impudent  scoundrel."  A  duel  en- 
sues ;  more  ink  than  blood  is  spilled,  and  honor  is  de- 
clared satisfied.  Whose  honor }  What  satisfaction  ? 
Such  duels  tend  to  bring  the  press  into  discredit,  and 


THE    DUELLISTS 


145 


these  journalists,  while  they  amuse  the  public,  win  nei- 
ther its  respect  nor  its  sympathy.  Still,  the  insult  hav- 
ing been  inflicted,  public  and  professional  opinion  ex- 
acts the  spilling  of  blood,  or  at  any  rate  the  simulacrum 
of  that  phenomenon. 

In  the  duels  between  French  gentlemen  there  is  al- 


PISTOL     PRACTICE     BEFORE    THE     DUEL 


146  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

ways  a  question  of  the  point  of  honor,  whether  real  or 
false.  According  to  the  duelling  code  now  accepted  as 
laid  down  in  the  Nouveau  Code  du  Duel  of  the  Comte 
du  Verger  de  Saint-Thomas,  "all  acts,  words,  writings, 
drawings,  gestures,  blows,  which  wound  the  self-love, 
delicacy,  or  honor  of  a  third  party  constitute  an  of- 
fence," and  authorize  a  demand  of  reparation  by  arms. 
Naturally  the  gravity  of  offences  of  each  kind  is  diffi- 
cult to  determine ;  the  offence  is  just  precisely  as  grave 
as  one  feels  it  to  be,  and  a  man  feels  an  offence  in  a 
thousand  different  manners.  That  depends  upon  his 
temperament,  his  education,  and  the  rank  of  society  to 
which  he  belongs.  In  France,  for  instance,  although 
every  man  is  a  soldier,  and  although  in  the  army  duel- 
ling is  obligatory,  the  peasants  settle  their  quarrels  with 
nature's  weapons  rather  than  with  the  sword,  while  the 
vast  majority  of  the  men  of  the  middle  classes  would 
never  think  of  exchanging  pistol-shots  with  the  first 
man  who  happened  to  eye  them  in  an  offensive  man- 
ner. On  the  other  hand,  let  us  take  a  famous  duel 
fought  in  1S73,  of  which  the  following  is  the  history: 
One  night  the  Baron  Georges  de  Heeckeren  was  sit- 
ting in  the  stalls  of  the  Varietes  Theatre,  when  a  cele- 
brated demi-mondaine,  Caroline   L ,  with  whom  the 

baron  was  on  cool  terms  —  after  having  been  on  the 
warmest  —  entered  one  of  the  boxes  on  the  arm  of  a 
Russian  gentleman,  accompanied  by  his  friend  the 
Prince  Dolgorouki.  The  demi-mondaine,  as  she  took 
her  seat,  recognized  her  ex-lover,  and  said,  "  Ah !  there 
is  Heeckeren."  Prince  Dolgorouki,  who  only  knew 
the  young  gentleman  by  reputation,  levelled  his  opera- 
slass  and  leaned  over  the  edo;e  of  the  box  to  look  at 
him.  Heeckeren,  thinking  that  the  company  in  the 
box  were  quizzing  him,  left  his  seat,  and  went  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  box.     Prince  Dolgorouki 


INTERVENTION    OF     GENDARMES 


THE    DUELLISTS  149 

opened  the  door,  and  excused  himself  for  having  yielded 
to  a  simple  impulse  of  curiosity;  but  the  irritable  baron 
would  listen  to  no  excuses,  and  slapped  the  prince  on 
the  cheek.  A  duel  was  arranged,  with  the  following 
peculiarly  severe  conditions :  "  The  combatants  shall 
be  placed  at  twenty  paces ;  at  the  word  of  command 
each  may  advance  five  paces  and  fire  as  he  pleases ;  an 
unlimited  number  of  balls  shall  be  exchanged,  and  the 
combat  shall  not  cease  until  a  serious  wound  shall 
have  rendered  its  continuation  impossible ;  the  wound- 
ed combatants  may  fire  in  the  position  in  which  they 
may  find  themselves  when  they  have  fallen ;  they  may 
also  drag  themselves  up  to  the  limit  of  the  five  paces 
above  mentioned,  but  ivitkoiLt  tke  help  of  their  seconds^ 
Curiously  enough,  these  conditions,  imposed  by  the 
Prince  Dolgorouki,  were  the  same  in  which  the  Baron 
de  Heeckeren's  father  had  fought  with  the  Russian  poet, 
Pouchkine,  in  1837.  The  duel  took  place  in  the  Duchy 
of  Luxembourg';  each  combatant  at  once  advanced  five 
paces,  and  at  a  distance  of  ten  paces  both  fired,  and 
Prince  Dolgorouki  fell,  his  right  shoulder  shattered. 
The  Baron  de  Heeckeren  went  up  to  his  wounded  ad- 
versary and  said  to  him,  "  Prince,  I  am  more  sorry  for 
my  stupidity  of  the  other  day  than  for  my  address  to- 
day: pardon  me  for  both:  you  would  have  received  my 
apology  long  ago  if  I  had  been  able  to  present  it." 

This  duel  was  absurd,  but  no  more  absurd  than  most 
of  the  duels  between  Parisian  gentlemen  who  may  be 
classed  under  the  category  of  viveurs,  or  "  men  about 
town,"  as  they  are  called  in  England.  The  young 
bloods  of  Paris  are  always  ready  to  draw  their  swords 
for  a  look  or  a  word.  The  combat  in  such  cases  is  sel- 
dom as  serious  as  the  one  just  mentioned,  but  the 
ground  is  nearly  always  as  frivolous.  The  only  excuse 
for  duels  of  this  kind — and  a  poor  enough  excuse,  too — 


150  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

is  that  it  is  the  fashion  to  fight.  An  affair  of  honor 
gives  a  young  man  a  certain  notoriety ;  the  boulevard 
journals  publish  an  official  report  of  the  duel,  signed  by 
the  seconds ;  the  adversaries  are  heroes  of  a  certain 
category  for  a  few  days,  and  their  generally  harmless 
escapade  excites  a  degree  of  curiosity  and  sympathy 
among  the  members  of  the  fair  sex. 

In  practice  the  institution  of  duelling  is  undoubtedly 
greatly  abused  in  France ;  nevertheless,  there  are  often 
duels  in  earnest,  and  the  theory  of  duelling  is  seriously 
accepted,  false  as  it  is.  It  is  a  custom  which  has  en- 
tered so  deeply  into  French  manners  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  foresee  even  its  obsolescence. 

In  the  time  of  Napoleon  I.  a  bill  for  the  suppression 
of  duelling  was  presented  in  the  Conseil  d'Etat,  and  re- 
jected after  discussion,  one  of  the  reasons  for  not  taking 
any  legislative  action  in  the  matter  being  the  following: 
"  There  is  a  multitude  of  offences  which  legal  justice 
does  not  punish,  and  among  these  offences  there  are 
some  so  indefinable,  or  concerned  with  matters  so  deli- 
cate, that  the  injured  party  would  blush  to  bring  them 
out  into  broad  daylight  in  order  to  demand  public 
justice.  In  these  circumstances  it  is  impossible  for  a 
man  to  right  himself  otherwise  than  by  a  duel." 

Guizot  declared,  in  the  tribune  of  the  French  Parlia- 
ment, that  "  French  society  must  give  up  the  idea  of 
preventing  a  duel  which  has  a  just  ground."  Berryer, 
Brillat-Savarin,  Jules  Janin,  Walsh,  Lemontey,  Chate- 
lain,  Armand  Carrel,  have  defended  duelling  as  an 
institution  which  three  centuries  of  legislation  and  phi- 
losophy have  been  powerless  to  dethrone.  It  is  a  preju- 
dice, a  relic  of  barbarism,  or  whatever  you  may  please 
to  call  it.  That  they  will  admit,  while  at  the  same  time 
arguing  to  show  that  it  is  necessary  for  the  existence  of 
societies.     Jules  Janin   says,  "  I  would  not  consent  to 


A    SWORD    DUEL 


live  twenty-four  hours  in  society,  such  as  it  is  at  present 
estabhshed  and  governed,  if  duelhng  did  not  exist." 
There  is  hardly  a  name  illustrious  in  the  political,  liter- 
ary, and  social  annals  of  France  during  the  nineteenth 
century  which  is  not  the  name  of  a  duellist.  Even  the 
magistrates  themselves  fight  duels.  In  fact,  throughout 
the  century  duelling  has  continued  in  France  as  a  social 
scourge,  varying  in  intensity  according  to  the  greater 
or  less  violence  of  the  passions  of  the  moment.  Now, 
as  in  the  times  of  Louis  XIV.,  justice  is  powerless  to 
suppress  the  practice,  and  legislators  seem  to  have 
abandoned  the  attempt  to  do  so,  or  even  to  regulate 
duelling. 

The  French  duel  is  a  single  combat  between  two  or 


152 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


several  persons,  who  fight  voluntarily,  for  some  private 
interest,  in  accordance  with  a  previous  agreement,  and 
in  consequence  of  a  challenge  in  the  form  of  a  cartel^ 
the  motive  of  which  is  some  offence.  The  offence  hav- 
ing been  given  and  taken  up,  the  principals  choose 
their  seconds,  who  arrange  the  whole  affair,  discuss  the 
interests  of  their  clients,  establish  the  conditions  of  the 
duel  in  all  its  details.  The  rights,  duties,  and  conduct  of 
principals  and  seconds  are  stated  with  great  minuteness 
in  the  Comte  de  Chateauvillard's  Essai  sttr  le  Diicl,  and 
with  still  greater  minuteness  in  the  recent  work,  already 
cited,  of  the  Comte  du  Verger  de  Saint- Thomas.  It 
would  be  outside  our  purpose  to  enter  more  deeply 
upon  the  subject  of  these  technicalities,  which  occupy 
in  the  last- mentioned  volume  some  three  hundred 
pages.  It  will  suffice  to  say  that  the  usual  arms  are  the 
rapier,  the  sabre  —  used  almost  exclusively  in  the  army 
— and  the  pistol ;  that  before  the  meeting  the  conditions 
of  the  encounter  are  minutely  detailed  in  a  proces-verbal 
signed  by  the  seconds ;  and  that  upon  the  encounter 
another  proces-verbal  is  drawn  up  recording  the  result, 
and  signed  by  the  seconds  and  by  the  doctors.  Nowa- 
days duelling  has  become  so  thoroughly  tolerated  that 
the  adversaries  rarely  take  the  trouble  to  go  to  the 
frontier  to  fight.  They  meet  in  the  environs  of  Paris 
in  a  wood  or  a  country  lane;  several  duels  have  been 
fought  behind  the  tribunes  of  the  race-courses  of  Long- 
champs  and  Auteuil,  and  in  the  presence  of  numerous 
witnesses.  The  police  or  the  gendarmes  have  a  right 
to  interfere  and  prevent  the  fight,  but  in  reality  these 
functionaries  are  rarely  at  hand  at  the  critical  moment. 
The  adversaries,  too,  may  be  prosecuted,  but  except  in 
cases  of  fatal  results  justice  generally  ignores  the  inci- 
dent of  a  hostile  encounter,  in  spite  of  the  publicity 
given  to  it  by  the  newspapers. 


MEETING    OF    THE     SECONDS 


THE    DUELLISTS  1 55 

Considering  the  frequency  of  duels  m  France,  one 
cannot  help  being  a  little  astonished  at  the  small  num- 
ber of  fatal  issues.  MM.  Rochefort,  De  Cassagnac,  Au- 
relien  Scholl,  and  many  other  well-known  Parisians 
have  to  their  credit  each  fourteen  or  fifteen  duels  at 
least,  and  not  one  of  them  is  at  all  maimed  by  his 
wounds.  There  are  three  reasons  why  the  modern 
duel  is  seldom  fatal.  In  the  first  place,  the  point  of 
honor  demands  only  a  spot  of  blood,  except  in  alto- 
gether extreme  cases ;  the  ordinary  duel  is  au  premier 
sang  (at  first  blood),  and  the  duel  a  7nort,  the  mortal 
combat,  is  a  rare  exception.  In  the  second  place,  the 
art  of  fencing  as  now  taught  is  an  art  of  defence  rather 
than  of  attack,  and  a  good  fencer  fighting  against  an- 
other good  fencer  in  a  conventional  duel  will  simply  vie 
with  his  adversary  in  the  skill  and  address  he  will  show 
in  giving  a  pin  scratch  with  a  broadsword.  Thirdly,  it 
is  the  duty  of  the  seconds  to  see  that  every  combat 
takes  place  correctly  and  according  to  the  rules,  and 
the  second  to  whom  is  allotted  the  delicate  task  of 
umpire,  or  J uge  de  camp,  has  the  right  to  stop  illicit  or 
even  too  dangerous  strokes.  Generally  speaking,  the 
duel  with  swords  in  modern  times  is  a  mitigated  and 
gentlemanly  combat.  As  we  have  already  seen,  it  is 
looked  upon  as  a  necessary  evil,  and  it  is  considered  the 
duty  of  all  concerned  in  a  duel  to  do  everything  in  their 
power  to  diminish  the  fatal  results  by  equalizing  the 
chances  of  each  adversary  as  far  as  possible.  Now  in 
this  equalization  of  chances  the  umpire,  or  juge  de 
camp,  plays  a  very  important  role.  The  moment  the 
two  combatants  are  face  to  face  and  sword  in  hand,  the 
duties  of  the  jtige  de  camp  begin  ;  it  is  he  who  directs 
the  fight,  watches  the  strokes,  suspends  an  engagement, 
orders  rests,  calls  time,  etc. 

We  may  say,  with  all   respect  for  the  Frenchman's 


156  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

delicate  sense  of  honor,  that  in  most  French  duels  the 
adversaries  are  not  in  terrible  earnest,  and  do  not  desire 
to  kill  each  other  outright.  For  this  reason  the  favorite 
arm  is  the  rapier,  and  not  the  pistol.  The  duel  with 
swords  has  been  refined  to  such  a  point  that  it  may  be 
regarded  as  a  sort  of  gentlemanly  act  of  defence.  The 
ordinary  French  conventional  duel  bears  the  same  re- 
lation to  a  serious  mortal  combat  as  a  court  sword  does 
to  an  army  sword;  it  is  almost  an  affair  of  etiquette, 
an  exercise  which  has  been  rendered  comparatively  free 
from  danger  by  the  art  of  fencing,  just  as  the  art  of 
dancing  and  deportment  has  enabled  the  courtier  to 
walk  without  tripping  up  with  his  velvet  scabbard  be- 
tween his  legs.  Naturally  the  maitres  cTarmes  have  a 
profound  contempt  for  pistols,  and  all  who  take  a  hu- 
manitarian view  of  duelling  dwell  upon  the  fact  that 
with  the  pistol  there  is  no  alternative  between  atrocity 
and  ridicule.  The  sword  is  satisfied  with  a  few  drops 
of  blood,  but  it  must  have  those  few  drops.  The  pistol 
sheds  floods  of  blood  or  nothing  at  all.  Grisier,  in  his 
treatise  on  duelling,  adds  to  the  above  arguments  the 
siofnificant  remark  that  all  doctors  are  agreed  that  it  is 
easier  to  save  the  life  of  a  man  who  has  been  wounded 
by  a  sword  than  of  one  who  has  been  wounded  by  a 
pistol -ball,  and,  "in  spite  of  the  horror  of  the  phrase 
'  at  first  blood,'  it  must  nevertheless  be  admitted  that 
there  is  humanity  in  this  convention."  In  France  the 
pistol  is  generally  regarded  as  the  arm  of  the  insulted 
party  who  does  not  know  how  to  handle  a  sword,  or 
who  is  inferior  in  a  too  marked  degree  to  his  adversary. 
Fencing  is  a  thoroughly  French  accomplishment,  and 
at  the  present  time,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  it  is 
the  most  elegant  and  fashionable  of  sports  in  France, 
and  considered  absolutely  indispensable  to  a  gentle- 
man's education.     From  the  social  point  of  view,  both 


FIRST    LESSON     IN     FENCING 


THE    DUELLISTS  1 59 

fencing  and  duelling,  within  certain  limits,  are  held  to 
be  perfectly  correct,  and  in  the  upper  ranks  of  society 
the  man  who  fights  for  his  honor,  or  even  for  a  hot 
word,  does  not  bring  himself  into  the  slightest  discredit ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  simply  shows  that  he  knows  how  to 
conduct  himself  according  to  the  prejudices  and  usages 
of  his  caste — in  short,  as  a  gentleman,  en  galant  homme. 
The  eminent  Academician,  M.  Ernest  Legouve  says 
that  fencing  is  as  much  a  French  art  as  conversation. 
"  What  is  fencing  ?"  he  asks.  "  It  is  conversing ;  for 
what  is  conversing?  Is  it  not  attacking,  parrying,  re- 
plying, touching  above  all,  if  you  can }  The  Germans 
have  their  sabres,  the  Spaniards  their  knives,  the  Eng- 
lish their  pistols,  the  Americans  their  revolvers,  but  the 
sword  is  the  French  arm.  Porter  Vepee,  tirer  Vepee,  are 
phrases  which  you  will  find,  with  all  their  somewhat 
swaggering  signification,  in  our  language  alone.  Of 
these  two  phrases  one  expresses  a  gentleman's  right, 
the  other  a  gentlemanly  movement;  both  have  in  them 
something  elegant,  chivalrous,  and  vainglorious  which 
depicts  a  trait  of  our  character,  and  is  intimately  bound 
up  with  our  social  traditions."  M.  Legouve's  desire  is 
to  have  the  French  democracy  remain  aristocratic  in 
manners,  and  nothing,  he  thinks,  could  be  of  more  avail 
in  the  realization  of  this  wish  than  the  handlino;  of  the 
sword.  "  Has  not  the  sword  the  finest  of  all  privileges .?" 
exclaims  the  worthy  Academician.  "  It  is  the  only  arm 
which  can  avenge  you  without  bloodshed."  Instead  of 
killing  the  man  who  has  insulted  you,  you  simply  punish 
him  by  disarming  him,  says  M.  Legouve. 

So  long  as  intelligent  and  influential  Frenchmen  con- 
tinue to  conform  their  conduct  to  the  deep-rooted  prej- 
udices concerning  duelling,  and  so  long  as  they  continue 
by  their  acts  and  writings  to  defend  the  existence  of 
this  convention,  which  the  most  superficial  examination 


l6o  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

shows  to  be  based  upon  a  whole  series  of  mistaken  no- 
tions of  right  and  justice,  so  long,  too,  as  duelling  is 
obligatory  in  the  army,  it  is  not  likely  that  either  legis- 
lation or  public  opinion  will  succeed  in  bringing  the 
practice  into  discredit.  It  must  be  remembered,  how- 
ever, that  in  modern  France  duelling  is  only  practised 
by  a  very  small  part  of  the  population.  Indeed,  ever 
since  it  was  introduced  by  the  Franks,  duelling  has  ex- 
isted as  an  institution  only  among  a  small  portion  of 
humanity,  and  in  this  small  portion  it  has  always  been 
the  appanage  of  a  pretentious  minority.  As  for  the 
French  duel  of  the  present  day,  generally  based  upon 
trifling  and  often  silly  grounds  of  offence,  it  is,  as  the 
journalist  Aurelien  Scholl  says,  "  a  mania  of  the  epoch 
which  has  hitherto  not  brought  about  great  disasters." 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS 


TN  the  elegant  quarters  of  Paris,  where  more  or  less 
refined  materialism  reigns  triumphant,  we  have  a 
tendency  to  forget  the  serious  aspect  of  Paris.  We  are 
struck  rather  by  the  superficial  and  agreeable  phases  of 
the  life  of  the  capital,  which  constitutes  such  an  amus- 
ing show,  and  which  even  M.  Ernest  Renan  admits  to 
be  a  good  furnace  wherein  to  consume  that  surplus  of 
life  which  is  not  absorbed  by  science  and  philosophy. 
In  this  eleo^ant  Paris  we  remark  that  virtue  is  never  a.Q-. 
gressive,  and  although  solemnly  celebrated  once  a  year 
at  the  French  Academy,  on  the  occasion  of  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  Monthyon  prizes,  virtue,  we  feel  sure,  is  not 
appreciated.  Nay  more,  the  prizes  which  the  Academy 
awards  for  the  encouragement  of  virtue  are  so  small 
that  they  are  practical  approbations  of  vice,  while  the 
speeches  made  by  the  eminent  Academicians,  who  are 
selected  to  record  the  virtuous  achievements  of  the 
laureates,  are  generally  so  full  of  paradox  and  delicate 
persiflage  that  none  can  mistake  the  poor  esteem  in 
which  the  austere  practice  of  virtue  is  held. 

Nevertheless,  w^e  must  not  pay  too  much  attention 
to  the  bilateral  and  deliquescent  utterances  of  academic 
wits,  even  though  they  may  be  grave  philosophers,  and 
profound  thinkers  in  their  more  serious  moments.  With- 
out virtue   no  commonwealth    can    prosper.      Without 


164  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

stability,  peace,  and  order  no  city  can  achieve  riches 
and  splendor. 

In  reality,  Paris  has  been  much  calumniated  by  the 
Parisians  themselves,  and  there  are  no  more  active 
slanderers  of  the  capital  than  the  journalists — at  least, 
so  it  would  appear,  for  the  newspaper  reports  about 
Paris  are  constantly  alarming ;  and  yet  the  prosperity  of 
the  city  goes  on  increasing.  But  the  readers  of  news- 
papers do  not  perhaps  understand  the  special  conditions 
of  the  journalistic  industry;  they  do  not  bear  in  mind 
that  the  journalist  esteems  a  fact,  not  in  virtue  of  its 
importance,  but  of  its  novelty.  From  year's  end  to 
year's  end  a  million  and  a  half  of  people  work  in  Paris 
ten  or  twelve  hours  a  day.  This  is  an  important  fact; 
but  it  is  not  new,  and  so  the  newspapers  do  not  mention 
it.  A  score  of  politicians  meet  and  draw  up  a  crazy 
manifesto,  and  immediately  the  fact,  being  new,  is  tele- 
graphed to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  man  who  reads 
the  newspapers,  without  comprehending  the  principles 
of  journalism,  gathers  erroneous  ideas,  impairs  his  di- 
gestion, and  renders  himself  conversationally  tiresome, 
because  when  he  arrives  in  Paris  and  recovers  more 
exact  notions  of  reality,  he  proceeds  to  marvel  at  the 
calmness  of  the  population,  the  activity  of  business  of 
all  kinds,  and  the  prosperity  of  the  city  in  general. 

Furthermore,  the  foreign  critics  of  French  affairs 
rarely  make  allowance  for  the  difference  between  the  dia- 
pason of  their  own  country  and  that  of  Paris,  where — in 
political  controversy,  for  instance — to  call  an  adversary 
an  "  assassin  "  is  a  comparatively  innocent  pleasantry, 
while  in  literary  controversy  such  terms  of  abuse  as 
"  scoundrel  "  and  "  idiot  "  are  the  usual  accompaniment 
of  the  preliminary  amenities  which  lead  up  to  a  bloodless 
duel.  Even  in  society  the  concert-pitch  of  conversation 
is  remarkably  high,  and  absent  friends  are  torn  to  pieces 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 65 

with  a  violence  of  language  that  might  terrify  foreigners 
accustomed  to  a  lower  key.  In  reality,  all  these  things 
are  manifestations  of  the  democratic  spirit.  The  Pari- 
sians are  so  democratic  that  Hottentot  ladies  and  de- 
throned kings  can  circulate  freely  in  the  streets  without 
attracting  the  slightest  attention.  Even  Oscar  Wilde,  in 
the  palmy  days  of  his  vestimentary  eccentricity,  passed 
unnoticed  in  the  streets  of  Paris.  In  proletarian  and 
in  elegant  Paris  alike  there  is  complete  liberty  of  loco- 
motion ;  the  city  belongs  to  the  citizens,  and  its  beau- 
ties and  conveniences  are  for  the  common  joy  of  rich 
and  poor.  We  are,  therefore,  free  to  wander,  and  to 
observe  the  prodigious  contrasts  of  the  monster. 

We  are  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge  over  the  Seine, 
close  by  Notre  Dame.  In  the  background  are  the  im- 
mense buildings  of  the  Hotel  Dieu,  the  great  hospital, 
and  the  tall  roofs  of  the  barracks  where  soldiers  and 
policemen  are  lodged  by  the  thousand.  In  the  middle 
distance,  behind  a  curtain  of  trees  and  shrubs,  stands 
the  colossal  statue  of  Charlemagne,  Carolus  Magnus, 
the  great  Emperor  of  the  Franks,  the  man  of  iron.  To 
the  right  is  the  storied  fa9ade  of  Notre  Dame.  In  the 
foreground  are  Bijou  and  the  Pere  La  Gloire,  rag-pick- 
ers— chiffomiiers  or  biffins,  as  they  call  themselves. 

The  wealth  of  Paris  is  so  boundless  that  the  rubbish 
and  refuse  of  the  city  is  worth  millions.  There  are 
some  fifty  thousand  persons  who  earn  a  living  by  pick- 
ing up  what  others  throw  away.  More  than  twenty 
thousand  women  and  children  exist  by  sifting  and  sort- 
ing the  gatherings  of  the  pickers,  who  collect  every  day 
in  the  year  about  1 200  tons  of  merchandise,  which  they 
sell  to  the  wholesale  rag-dealers  for  some  70,000  francs. 
At  night  you  see  men  with  baskets  strapped  on  their 
backs,  a  lantern  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  stick 
with  an  iron  hook  on  the  end.  They  walk  rapidly  along. 


1 66  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

their  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  over  which  the  lantern 
flings  a  sheet  of  Hght,  and  whatever  they  find  in  the 
way  of  paper,  rags,  bones,  grease,  metal,  etc.,  they  stow 
away  in  their  baskets.  In  the  morning  in  front  of  each 
house  you  see  men,  women,  and  children  sifting  the 
dust-bins  before  they  are  emptied  into  the  scavengers' 
carts.  At  various  hours  of  the  day  you  see  isolated  rag- 
pickers, who  seem  to  work  with  less  method  than  the 
others,  and  with  a  more  independent  air.  The  night 
pickers  are  generally  novices,  men  who,  having  been 
throwm  out  of  work,  have  been  obliged  to  hunt  for  their 
living  like  the  wild  beasts.  The  morning  pickers  are 
experienced  and  regular  workers  who  pay  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  siftinor  the  dust -bins  of  a  certain  number  of 
houses,  and  of  trading  with  the  results.  The  rest,  the 
majority,  are  the  cottreurs,  the  runners,  who  exercise 
their  profession  freely,  and  without  control,  working 
when  they  please  and  loafing  when  they  please.  They 
are  the  philosophers  and  adventurers  of  the  profession, 
and  their  chief  object  is  to  enjoy  life,  and  meditate  upon 
its  problems. 

Such  men  are  Bijou  and  the  Pere  La  Gloire.  The 
latter  works  with  considerable  regularity  and  lives  in 
the  Ouartier  Mouffetard  with  a  vast  colony  of  rag- 
pickers, who  are  for  the  most  part  the  employes  as 
well  as  the  tenants  of  a  master  rag-picker.  Pere  La 
Gloire 's  specialty,  when  he  works,  is  paper  and  rags. 
Bijou,  on  the  other  hand,  considers  these  articles  too 
cumbersome,  and  prefers  to  collect  cigar  stumps  and 
meo-ots,  or  fras^ments  of  cisfarettes,  for  which  there  is  a 
regular  market  in  the  poor  quarters  of  the  capital.  As 
we  see  him  with  his  cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes  he 
has  just  come  up-stairs  from  a  quiet  corner  of  the  quay, 
where  he  has  been  sorting  his  harvest  of  inegots,  sepa- 
rating the  various  qualities  and  preparing  his  wares  for 


BIJOU    AND    THE    P£RE    LA    GLOIRE 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 69 

sale  to  the  special  dealers.  His  pockets  are  full  of 
tobacco,  and  his  clothes  emit  a  smell  of  stale  smoke, 
mingled  with  various  perfumes  of  unwashedness  and 
misery.  Nevertheless,  his  manners  are  those  of  a  free 
and  independent  citizen ;  he  has  stopped  to  talk  politics 
with  Pere  La  Gloire ;  his  dominant  idea  is  liberty. 
Bijou  esteems  his  own  liberty  so  dearly  that  he  has 
never  consented  to  compromise  it  even  so  far  as  to  have 
a  domicile  of  any  kind.  In  summer  he  sleeps  on  the 
benches  of  the  public  promenade  or  under  the  bridges 
of  the  Seine.  In  winter  he  makes  the  round  of  the 
night  refuges,  staying  in  each  one  the  maximum  of 
time  permitted  by  the  rules  and  then  passing  to  an- 
other one.  Both  Bijou  and  Pere  La  Gloire  drink  the 
most  deleterious  and  scarifying  alcohol  that  was  ever 
distilled;  they  live  in  filth,  and  often  in  the  deepest 
misery,  but  they  enjoy  the  priceless  privilege  of  liberty, 
and,  altogether,  their  existence  is  not  without  a  certain 
prestige.  They  play  a  role  in  the  life  of  Paris,  and  the 
nature  of  their  occupation  reveals  to  them  the  disen- 
chantment of  Parisian  existence — the  crumpled  news- 
paper, the  broken  bust,  the  faded  bouquet — in  contrast 
with  the  splendor  of  wealth,  the  beauty  of  youth,  and 
the  fascination  of  fame,  which  they  are  able  to  contem- 
plate as  well  as  those  whom  fortune  has  favored  more 
highly,  for  Bijou  picks  up  cigar  stumps  under  the  tables 
of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  and  Pere  La  Gloire  sifts  the 
dust-bin  of  the  Baron  de  Rothschild. 


170  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


II 


Of  misery  in  Paris  there  is  no  lack,  but  it  is  not  ob- 
trusive as  in  certain  cities  like  London,  for  instance. 
In  the  districts  of  Crenelle,  Montparnasse,  Le  Maine, 
Montrouge,  Plaisance,  Gentilly,  Maison  Blanche,  La 
Glaciere,  the  struggle  for  life  is  hard  indeed,  and  the 
material  conditions  in  which  the  working-people  live 
are  very  wretched.  The  promiscuity  of  the  tenement- 
houses  is  too  horrible  to  be  described.  In  the  district 
of  the  Gobelins,  the  Boulevard  Arago,  the  banks  of  the 
Bievre  and  the  Rue  Mouffetard,  side  by  side  with  the 
laborious  population  employed  in  the  tanneries,  we  find 
great  colonies  of  Bohemians,  declasses,  and  people  who 
have  missed  fortune's  coach  and  are  tired  of  life.  In 
this  part  of  the  city  live  many  rag-pickers,  swarms  of 
Italians  who  make  plaster  casts  and  serve  as  models  for 
artists,  a  certain  number  of  Nihilist  refugees  and  Rus- 
sian and  Wallachian  students.  The  aspect  of  poor 
Paris  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  is  strangely  dis- 
heartened, unstrung,  full  of  silence  and  despair. 

On  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine  the  citadel  of  labor 
and  poverty  seems,  on  the  contrary,  full  of  life  and 
energy.  Charonne,  Menilmontant,  Belleville,  La  Vil- 
lette.  La  Chapelle,  Clignancourt,  Montmartre,  Les  Epi- 
nettes,  BatignoUes — each  district  formerly  an  indepen- 
dent village  with  its  central  street — have  become  amal- 
gamated into  one  vast  centre  of  population  traversed 
by  endless  streets  and  broad  avenues,  like  the  Rue  des 
Pyrenees,  Rue  de  Crimee,  Rue  Ordener,  Rue  Curial, 
Rue  Marcadet,  Rue  de  Belleville,  Rue  Oberkampf, 
Chaussee  Clignancourt,  Avenue  de  la  Republique,  Bou- 


BOULEVARD    ARAGO. 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 73 

levard  de  la  Chapelle,  Boulevard  de  Belleville,  etc.  In 
these  quarters  are  concentrated  two- thirds  of  the  pop- 
ulation of  Paris.  On  these  heights,  that  form  as  it 
were  a  crown  above  rich  Paris,  some  of  the  houses 
contain  as  many  as  two  hundred  inmates,  and  the 
streets  are  so  crowded  that  you  cannot  see  the  pave- 
ment except  at  night.  Here  are  the  reservoirs  of 
poverty  and  of  energy  that  burst  and  flood  Paris  in 
days  of  revolution;  here  are  the  inexhaustible  reserves 
of  cheap  labor  that  make  the  wealth  of  manufacturing 
Paris. 

What  swarms  of  people !  What  a  fermentation  of 
various  activity !  What  a  perpetual  straining  and  strug- 
gling! And  yet  with  all  that  there  is  no  obvious  sad- 
ness and  very  little  obtrusive  discontent.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  people  are  gay  and  much  given  to  witticisms 
and  levity ;  they  enjoy  the  bustle  and  animation  of  their 
surroundings,  and  they  have  only  to  walk  a  few  yards 
in  any  direction  to  find  those  broad,  shady  avenues  and 
those  fine  urban  parks  which  the  traditions  of  Hauss- 
mann  have  extended  even  to  the  poorest  quarters  of  the 
city.  Witness  the  parks  of  the  Buttes  Chaumont  and 
Montsouris,  the  tree- planted  squares,  the  innumerable 
gardens  and  lungs  that  have  been  reserved  in  the  most 
thickly  populated  districts,  to  say  nothing  of  the  green 
mounds  of  the  fortifications  where  the  proletarian 
youths  and  maidens  love  to  rusticate  and  record  in 
mural  inscriptions  their  exploits  and  their  plighted 
troth.  ""  Bebete  dit  pas  de  chance  de  Clichy''''  records  his 
visit  to  the  Porte  de  Romainville  at  such  and  such  a 
date,  while  at  the  same  time  his  friend,  ''La  Vache  To- 
paze  donne  le  bonjour  aux  camarades,'''  and  in  deeply  in- 
cised letters  on  the  wall  of  a  miserable  shed  a  simple 
maid  inscribes  her  eternal  love  for  Victor :  "  Cai^oline 
aime  Totor  son  homme  pour  la  vicT 


174 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


/ 


Nowadays  the  ebullient  populations  of  Montmartre 
and  Belleville,  the  electors  of  Gambetta,  seem  to  take 
less  interest  in  politics  than  formerly ;  the  organization 

of  the  working-men's  par- 
ty, of  the  anarchists  and 
of  the  revolutionary  clubs 
has  been  broken  up  by  in- 
ternal divisions.  The  peo- 
ple, too,  are  rather  tired  of 
sweeping  claims  and  uni- 
versally destructive  pro- 
grammes, having  learned 
from  experience  that  there 
is  little  to  be  gained  by 
howling  with  the  dema- 
gogues. Now  and  then 
you  hear  of  some  meeting 
where  the  young  local  poli- 
ticians make  wild  speech- 
es, and  where  some  dream- 
er possessed  by  a  fixed 
idea  stands  on  his  feet, 
unrolls  his  scrap  of  manu- 
script, and  with  the  vio- 
lence of  hallucination  ex- 
presses his  imperious  desire  that  all  children  should 
become  acquainted  with  the  code  of  the  laws  of  the 
land,  "  Je  veux  que  les  enfants  apprennent  le  code." 
But  the  great  agitators,  the  survivors  of  the  Commune, 
the  evil  geniuses  who  led  the  mob  during  the  disasters 
of  1 87 1,  the  theorists  and  vieilles  barbes  of  the  Empire 
— what  has  become  of  them?  Most  of  them  have  dis- 
appeared or  retired  from  active  service.  The  famous 
citizen  Jules  Allix,  for  instance,  who  pointed  the  can- 
non   from    Belleville    in    187 1,  is   now  a   peaceful   and 


-^vs^-. 


^^5 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 75 

somewhat  crazy  old  gentleman  who  teaches  little  girls 
to  read  in  the  school  of  Mile.  Barberousse, 

Allix  is  quite  a  historical  character  according  to  his 
own  account,  and  an  excellent  example  of  the  queer  semi- 
intellectual  and  ill -balanced  fanatics  who  have  caused 
so  much  harm  to  France  with  their  vain  theories  and 
their  sinister  doings.  This  thin,  waxen  -  faced,  gray- 
bearded  old  man  with  drooping  eyelids  and  eager  gray 
eyes  that  acquire  a  strange  visual  obliquity  when  he  be- 
gins to  talk  about  his  exploits  and  his  aspirations,  is  a 
victim  of  the  pride  of  science,  and  an  example  of  how 
dangerous  a  thing  is  a  little  learning.  In  1840,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-two,  he  came  to  Paris  as  a  lawyer's  clerk, 
and  instead  of  attending  to  his  business  he  invented  a 
system  of  teaching  people  to  read  in  fifteen  hours — a 
system  so  marvellous  that  the  Pope  wished  Allix  to  go 
to  Rome  and  explain  it,  and  made  all  sorts  of  advances 
to  him.  But  Allix  refused  bluntly,  being  convinced  that 
the  Jesuits  were  behind  the  Pope.  "  The  Jesuits,"  he 
will  tell  you,  "wished  to  get  hold  of  me.  Thanks  to 
my  method  of  teaching  reading  I  was  a  force.  They 
were  afraid  of  that  force,  and  wished  to  monopolize  it 
in  order  to  be  masters  of  the  world." 

In  1848  Allix  entered  the  field  of  militant  politics 
with  Victor  Considerant  and  the  Phalansterians.  After 
the  Coup  d'etat  of  185 1,  seeing  many  friends  in  exile,  he 
began  to  conspire  against  the  Empire.  "  I  was  the  ori- 
gin of  the  affair  of  the  Hippodrome,"  he  goes  on  to  say. 
"  I  was  the  origin  of  the  affair  of  the  Opera  Comique, 
which  very  nearly  succeeded,  and  caused  me  to  be 
banished  for  eight  years,  which  I  spent  in  Brussels  and 
Jersey.  Then  I  came  back  to  Paris  and  began  to  or- 
ganize the  Commune.  It  was  I  who  found  the  formula. 
'What!  have  they  elaborated  a  formula  of  government  ?' 
exclaimed  Thiers  with  surprise.     Thiers !      I  know  not 


wh}"^  I  mention  him,  for  he  was  a  scoundrel.  Yes,  mon- 
sieur, we  had  our  formula  of  government,  and,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  war,  we  should  have  succeeded.  After 
187 1  I  was  condemned  to  ten  years'  imprisonment  in  a 
fortified  place,  ttiie  enceinte  fortijiee,  and  as  Paris  is  a 
fortified  place  I  thought  I  might  as  well  remain  there. 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 77 

This  plan  I  carried  out  and  remained  in  hiding,  first  of 
all  in  the  Rue  de  Turenne  and  then  at  Neuilly,  where 
I  stayed  for  six  years  in  the  same  room,  not  daring  to 
show  myself  even  at  the  window,  for  the  janitor,  of  course, 
did  not  know  that  I  was  in  the  house.  During  these 
six  years  I  evolved  my  plan  for  the  canalization  of  the 
Seine,  about  which  I  will  give  you  my  pamphlets,  mon 
sieur." 

And  Citizen  Jules  Allix  opens  his  voluminous  port- 
folio, and  from  bundles  of  papers  he  extracts  "  Plan 
cinquante  et  unieme  A.  Canalization  de  la  Seine. 
Projet  brevete  du  citoyen  Jules  Allix,"  and  shows  us 
his  patented  scheme,  and  the  tracing  of  his  canal,  which 
is  much  shorter  than  that  proposed  by  others  who  wish 
to  make  Paris  a  seaport.  In  Allix's  plan,  it  is  true,  we 
have  some  terribly  costly  tunnels  to  pierce.  "  Yes, 
monsieur,  they  will  cost  fifteen  millions,"  he  replies  to 
our  objection,  "  but  they  will  produce  fifty  millions  by 
the  sale  of  the  stone  and  other  materials  that  we  shall 
extract."  And  so  Citizen  Jules  Allix,  the  lucid  lunatic, 
who  has  just  told  us  how  he  spurned  the  offers  of  the 
Jesuits  and  refused  the  golden  offers  of  fortune  not 
once,  but  ten  times,  mounts  his  last  hobby-  horse  and 
starts  once  more  the  dance  of  millions. 

However,  it  is  easy  to  bring  the  old  man  back  to  no- 
bler themes.  The  mention  of  the  working-men's  party 
or  of  the  revolutionary  idea  is  sufficient  to  evoke  new 
evidences  of  his  pride  and  folly.  "  I  did  this.  I  did 
that,"  he  goes  on,  "  I  wrote  this.  Victor  Hugo  said  to 
me:  'Citizen  Jules  Allix,  I  could  have  wished  to  have 
written  that  myself.'  As  for  myself,"  continues  the 
vague  apostle  of  mischief,  "  I  have  no  pride.  I  have 
neither  pride  nor  modesty.  I  am  speaking  to  you  as 
a  public  man,  but  that  is  only  one  of  the  phases  of  my 
activity.     I  am  at  once  doctor,  philosopher,  lawyer,  and 


178 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


Inventor.  I  am  familiar  with 
science,  mysticism,  asceticism, 
magnetism.  I  know  life  and 
death  ;  the  past,  the  present,  and 
the  future.  I  am  a  revolution- 
ist and  a  benefactor  of  human- 
ity, and  vice-president  of  the 
Women's  League." 

Yes,  and  with  all  these  quali- 
ties and  all  these  titles  to  glory, 
Citizen  Jules  Allix  is  an  usher 
at  $20  a  month  in  Mile.  Barbe- 
rousse's  school  for  little  girls 
near  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  he 
is  much  respected  in  the  neigh- 
borhood by  the  humble  parents 
whose  daughters  he  teaches  to 
read  by  the  very  excellent  meth= 
od  which  the  Jesuits  wished  to 
monopolize.  So  Mile.  Barbe- 
rousse's  little  school  prospers 
in  a  modest  way,  and  towards 
noon  the  man  who  has  refused 
millions,  and  been  the  cause  of  many  of  the  horrors  and 
disasters  of  the  Commune,  may  be  seen  trotting  along 
the  street  carrying  a  milk-can  and  two  plates  of  meat — 
his  own  dinner  and  that  of  Mile.  Barberousse — which 
he  has  bought  at  a  cheap  cook-shop  at  the  corner  of 
the  street. 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  179 


III 


In  the  morning  and  in  the  evening  the  animation  in 
the  great  faubourgs  of  Paris  and  in  the  streets  that  de- 
scend from  the  heights  towards  the  city  is  most  curi- 
ous. In  the  morning  the  populace — men  and  women, 
girls  and  boys — swarms  down  to  conquer  Paris  and  to 
earn  its  bread ;  in  the  evening  it  turns  its  back  upon 
Paris  and  regains  the  heights.  Each  movement  pro- 
duces a  thronging  of  human  forms  that  passes  all  de- 
scription. In  a  street  like  the  Rue  Oberkampf,  for  in- 
stance, one  may  see  this  swarm  of  human  bees  in  all 
the  intensity  and  fulness  of  its  life  and  variety.  The 
street  is  a  resume  of  popular  Paris,  with  its  houses  like 
pigeon-cotes,  each  family  narrowly  lodged  in  an  exigu- 
ous box,  and  its  shops  where  everything  is  neatly  dis- 
played according  to  the  traditions,  the  shelled  pease  on 
a  black  cloth  which  sets  off  the  freshness  of  their  grreen 
color,  the  meat  with  artistic  arabesques  cut  in  the  fat, 
the  shoes  in  goodly  order,  and  the  cheap  newspapers, 
the  songs  and  ballads,  strung  up  daintily  in  symmetrical 
rows.  On  the  fa9ades  are  innumerable  signs,  and  on 
the  door-posts  are  plates  above  plates  indicating  the 
whereabouts  in  the  house  of  this  and  that  modest  man- 
ufacturer who  lives,  labors,  and  raises  a  family  in  a 
room  no  bigger  than  a  horse-box. 

How  nicely  everything  is  ticketed  and  arranged !  In 
art,  in  Hterature,  in  life  and  its  organization,  the  French 
have  a  remarkable  daintiness  and  completeness.  Each 
man  to  his  trade,  and  each  thing  in  its  place,  seems  to 
be  their  motto,  and  let  it  be  at  once  evident  what  is 
each  man's  trade,  and  what  the  place  of  each  thing.    See 


l8o  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

the  omnibus  as  it  comes  down  the  street;  its  model  has 
been  carefully  studied  and  approved  ne  variettir  by  the 
Prefecture  of  Police ;  the  coachman  wears  a  hat  and 
jacket  of  one  shape,  and  the  conductor  a  cap  and  jacket 
of  another  shape,  while  at  the  stations  the  controllers 
wear  yet  a  third  variety  of  kepi  and  coat;  and  the  re- 
sult is  a  certain  reposeful  neatness  and  a  grateful  ab- 
sence of  surprises.  The  movements  of  this  omnibus 
and  the  action  of  the  driver  and  the  conductor  in  all 
circumstances  have  been  foreseen  and  set  forth  in  mi- 
nute rules  and  regulations.  There  is  no  country  in  the 
world  where  there  are  more  rules  and  regulations  than 
in  France.  The  French  like  to  be  regulated,  and  in 
spite  of  all  the  vain  talk  of  recent  years  about  liberty 
and  equality  the  latter  is  the  aim  of  none.  Look  at 
the  dress  of  the  French.  The  ideal  seems  to  be  a  uni- 
form of  some  kind  that  will  distinguish  one  man  from 
another.  The  deputies  and  journalists  carry  volumi- 
nous portfolios  under  their  arms ;  the  poets,  who  com- 
mand untamable  flocks  of  unforeseen  images  and  count- 
less throngs  of  striking  epithets,  affect  long  hair,  strange 
hats,  and  general  singularity  of  dress ;  the  employes  of 
the  banks  and  financial  establishments  wear  distinctive 
liveries ;  the  working-men  all  have  some  peculiarity  of 
costume  which  indicates  at  once  their  occupation.  The 
people  are  not  the  slaves  of  fashion  like  the  upper  and 
middle  classes ;  they  devise  their  costume  according  to 
their  own  taste  and  with  a  view  to  conveniency.  The 
carpenter  wears  a  loose  blouse,  brown  or  blue  velvet 
trousers,  tight  round  the  ankles,  very  large  around  the 
thighs,  and  girt  with  a  splendid  scarlet  sash.  The  lock- 
smith wears  a  short,  light  blue  jacket,  as  smartly  fitted 
as  that  of  a  Spanish  bull-fighter,  and  across  his  shoulder 
is  slung  by  a  broad  strap  the  box  of  tools.  The  butcher 
wears  a  white  apron,  a  violet  or  pale   rose  shirt  that 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  l8l 

leaves  the  arms  bare,  and  a  trousseau  of  knives  hanging 
at  his  girdle.  Then  there  are  the  market  porters  with 
immense  white  felt  hats,  the  coal-dealers  from  Auvergne 
with  their  green  velvet  trousers,  the  furniture-makers 
with  black  aprons,  the  sewer  men,  the  chimney-sweeps, 
the  coal-heavers,  the  masons,  the  metal-workers,  the 
grocers — all  wearing  a  special  dress,  or  some  detail  of 
dress  that  make  them  immediately  recognizable. 

In  vain  the  Belle  Jardiniere  and  a  dozen  other  vast 
stores  offer  ready-made  clothes  for  the  million — jackets 
cut  by  machinery,  suits  of  aggravating  uniformity.  The 
Parisian  working  -  man  will  only  wear  such  clothes  on 
great  occasions,  like  a  funeral  or  a  marriage,  or  on  Sun- 
days when  he  tries  to  ape  the  middle  classes. 

A  marriage  is  always  a  great  event  in  popular  Paris, 
and  whether  it  be  that  of  a  working-man,  or  a  shop- 
keeper, or  of  a  well-to-do  manufacturer  who  gives  a 
handsome  dowry  to  his  daughter,  it  attracts  the  atten- 
tion of  the  whole  quarter.  There  is  a  crowd  round  the 
door  of  the  house  to  see  the  bride  enter  the  coach,  much 
embarrassed  by  her  rustling  robe,  her  white  veil,  and  her 
bouquet  of  symbolic  orange  blossoms.  There  is  a  crowd 
at  the  town-hall  and  the  church ;  there  is  a  crowd  to 
see  the  carriages  drive  up  to  the  door  of  the  restaurant; 
and,  indeed,  from  the  time  the  bridal  party  starts  until 
the  hour  when  discreet  night  veils  the  young  couple 
from  view,  the  wedding  and  the  wedding  guests  {la  noce 
et  les  gens  de  la  noce)  are  considered  a  feature  of  the 
spectacle  of  the  street,  which  everybody  has  a  right  to 
look  at  and  comment  upon. 

In  order  to  get  duly  married  in  popular  Paris,  there 
are  three  formalities  generally  considered  as  absolutely 
indispensable :  going  to  the  town-hall  or  mairie  for  the 
civil  marriage ;  going  to  church  for  the  religious  mar- 
riage ;  and  going  to  the  Bois.     In  closed  carriages  or 


1'2* 


l82  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

in  open  landaus,  in  omnibuses  or  chars-a-bancs  drawn 
by  three  or  four  horses,  according  as  the  wedding  is 
more  or  less  distinguished,  the  party  rides  out  to  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  makes  the  tour  of  the  lakes,  and  halts 
at  the  Cafe  de  la  Cascade,  or  at  the  cheaper  cafes  out- 
side the  gates  at  Suresnes.  The  programme  is  invari- 
able. While  the  coachmen  take  a  drink  the  cortes^e 
visits  the  cascade,  that  little  artificial  Switzerland  which 
the  genius  of  M.  Alphand  has  concentrated  in  a  space 
of  two  hundred  square  yards.  The  bride,  the  bride- 
groom, the  bridesmaids,  the  groomsmen,  the  parents, 
and  the  guests  climb  up  the  steps  and  pass  along  the 
gallery,  one  side  of  which  is  formed  by  the  sheet  of 
water  of  the  cascade,  a  liquid  crystal  curtain  through 
which  is  seen  the  magnificent  panorama  of  the  plain 
of  Longchamps  and  the  soft  hills  of  Suresnes  and  St. 
Cloud.  Then  follows  farther  driving  in  the  fine  avenues 
of  the  Bois,  the  Avenue  du  Champs -Elysees,  and  the 
Boulevards,  and  so  to  the  various  restaurants  of  differ- 
ent grades  that  make  a  specialty  of  wedding  feasts — - 
Gillet,  Lemardelay,  Vefour,  or  the  more  modest  restau- 
rants of  the  environs  and  of  the  faubourgs.  The  table 
has  a  joyous  aspect  in  all  these  establishments ;  it  is 
laid  with  art,  and  served  with  apparent  abundance,  what- 
ever the  price  may  be ;  and  the  wedding  guests  are  joy- 
ous and  noisy  until  order  is  called  for  the  speeches  and 
songs.  In  a  popular  Parisian  wedding  the  bride  has 
to  sing  her  little  song  like  the  rest.  The  poet  of  the 
family  recites  some  verses.  Everybody  has  something 
to  say,  to  sing,  or  to  do,  insomuch  that  a  wedding  dinner 
is  often  merely  a  pretext  for  eloquence  and  amateur 
histrionic  talent.  Are  not  the  Gauls  essentially  artists 
and  orators,  as  Julius  Caesar  remarked  centuries  ago  } 

The    great   day  for   popular  weddings    in    Paris    is 
Saturday.     On  that  day  the  student  of  character,  physi- 


PROLETARIAN     PARIS  1 85 

ognomy,  gesture,  and  expression,  has  only  to  wander 
about  the  main  thoroughfares  of  the  capital  and  go  and 
sit  at  the  cafes  of  Suresnes  or  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Cas- 
cade, in  order  to  see  a  more  varied  and  amusing  collec- 
tion of  human  creatures  in  their  best  clothes  than  can 
be  seen  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  In  these  wedding 
corteges,  by  some  happy  hazard,  the  most  intensely  char- 
acteristic types  of  Paris  seem  to  have  been  assembled 
expressly  for  the  pleasure  of  the  observer  and  of  the 
artist ;  witness  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  the  father  and 
the  mother,  and  the  cynically  jocose  coachman  depicted 
in  our  illustration. 

In  the  popular  quarters  of  Paris  the  cafe  concert  is 
the  favorite  place  of  amusement.  Indeed,  if  Montes- 
quieu's intelligent  Persian  were  to  return  to  modern 
Paris,  he  would  doubtless  observe  that  the  cafe  concert 
has  become  the  chief  distraction  of  the  Parisians  both 
of  the  lower  and  of  the  middle  classes,  to  the  detriment 
both  of  the  dramatic  and  the  lyric  stage,  and  in  proof 
of  this  statement  he  would  cite  the  multipHcity  and 
prosperity  of  these  establishments.  And  yet,  generally 
speaking,  it  would  be  difTficult  to  conceive  anything 
more  inept  and  stupid  than  a  French  cafe  concert  or 
music-hall.  Why  people  go  to  them  I  cannot  explain, 
unless  it  be  because  some  mysterious  destiny  forces 
mankind  in  general  to  seek  distraction  perpetually,  and 
prompts  the  Frenchman  in  particular  to  escape  from 
the  ennui  of  his  own  fireside  in  a  lodging  that  is  rarely 
adequate.  And  so  the  music-halls  are  always  crowded. 
The  shopkeepers  of  the  neighborhood,  their  wives  and 
their  daughters,  their  cook -maids  and  their  clerks,  the 
working-men,  the  washer-women,  the  girls  who  toil  all 
day  in  manufactories,  all  patronize  the  cafes  concerts 
steadily  night  after  night.  In  serried  ranks  they  sit, 
packed  literally  so  closely  that  they  cannot  move  their 


l86  ,     THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

legs  six  inches  in  any  direction.  In  front  of  the  seats 
is  a  narrow  ledge  on  which  is  placed  the  coiisoinmation 
of  each  visitor — cherries  preserved  in  eau-de-vie,  coffee, 
'  beer,  peppermint  or  red-currant  syrup.  With  their  hats 
on  or  off  as  they  please,  the  men  smoke  at  their  ease 
and  applaud  uproariously.  As  the  evening  advances 
the  atmosphere  of  the  hall  becomes  more  and  more  hot 
and  foul,  the  audience  more  and  more  swarming  and 
more  and  more  perspiring;  the  flaming  gas-jets  are 
gradually  veiled  in  a  thick  blue  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke  ; 
while  on  the  stage  the  lean  and  hoarse-voiced  cantatrice 
with  awkward,  angular  gestures,  screams,  over  the  bald 
heads  of  the  musicians  in  the  orchestra,  the  senseless 
refrain  of  some  popular  absurdity  or  the  commonplace 
insipidities  of  a  sentimental  romance. 


IV 


The  life  of  Paris  is  so  inexhaustible  a  theme  that  one 
might  write  about  it  from  one  year's  end  to  another,  as 
the  Parisians  themselves  do  in  their  newspapers  and 
books.  The  question  is  what  to  describe  and  what  to 
neglect.  Everything  is  interesting ;  every  scene  of  the 
streets  suggests  a  commentary ;  everybody  one  sees  in- 
vites study  and  analysis,  whether  humorous  or  serious. 
Perhaps,  however,  popular  Paris  is  least  known  to  the 
foreigner,  and  therefore  we  may  do  well  to  pay  a  visit 
to  one  of  those  modest  households  of  the  manufactur- 
ing quarters  to  which  we  have  already  briefly  referred, 
choosins:  one  of  the  most  comfortable  rather  than  of  the 
most  miserable. 

In  the  Rue  Vieille  du  Temple,  the  centre  of  the  manu- 
facture of  those  miscellaneous  objects  known  as  articles 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  189 

de  Paris,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Barbette,  is  a  gray 
old  house  built  in  the  seventeenth  century.  At  the 
end  of  a  dark  passage  is  a  small  court-yard,  where  the 
janitor  and  his  wife  dwell  in  a  dismal  den,  over  the  door 
of  which  is  written  the  traditional  inscription  "  Parlez 
au  Concierge."  We  mount  an  old-fashioned  staircase 
and  on  the  fifth  flat,  on  a  door  framed  in  a  very  thick 
wall,  we  read  these  words  painted  in  white  on  a  small 
black  plate : 


A.  Salomon, 
Fabrique  de  patins  a  roulettes  et  Jouets. 


Old  M.  Salomon — he  is  seventy- three  years  of  age — 
opens  the  door,  all  smiles,  and  introduces  us  into  his 
manufactory  of  roller-skates  and  toys.  We  pass  through 
the  dining-room,  which  is  comfortably  furnished.  On 
the  wall  is  a  crayon  portrait  of  M.  Salomon's  mother, 
who  won  a  Monthyon  prize  for  virtue  in  her  day  and 
died  at  the  age  of  105,  a  portrait  of  M.  Salomon  him- 
self, and  a  colored  photograph  of  Mile.  Salomon  in  the 
costume  of  a  ballet-dancer.  The  buffet  and  the  table 
are  covered  with  caskets  in  the  form  of  Swiss  chalets, 
which  open  and  reveal  queer  little  dolls'  drawing-rooms, 
furnished  with  toy  chairs,  and  sofas  upholstered  in  blue, 
rose,  and  tinsel,  with  mirrors  on  the  walls  and  all  the 
accessories  of  elegance  and  comfort.  Other  chalets- 
caskets  are  surrounded  by  gardens.  These  are  speci- 
mens of  the  productions  of  the  establishment,  which 
has  a  specialite  de  chalets-coffrets. 

We  lift  up  a  curtain  and  enter  the  workshop,  wdiich 
is  also  the  bedroom.  It  is  a  low  garret  with  a  window 
occupying  one  entire  side.  In  one  corner  is  a  bed  ;  in 
another  corner  a  wash-stand ;  in  the  centre  a  little  cast- 
iron  stove  that  serves  both  for  heatino-  and  for  cooking: 


190  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

purposes;  and  the  rest  of  the  room  is  taken  up  by  a  pedal 
lathe  and  work-tables,  while  the  walls  are  covered  with 
tools,  shelves,  and  unmounted  pieces  of  toys  and  cha- 
lets already  sawn  into  shape.  Madame  Salomon  sits  at 
a  table  varnishing  a  chalet-casket ;  old  Salomon  resumes 
his  work  of  mounting  roller-skates;  by  the  side  of  the 
bed,  which  is  strewn  with  costumes,  bandboxes,  and 
bright-colored  muslin.  Mile.  Rachel,  or  Chechel,  as  she 
is  familiarly  called,  is  busy  disentangling  a  bundle  of 
ribbons  and  tinsel  braid.  Chechel  is  a  woman  of  about 
thirty,  a  danseuse  by  profession. 

While  Paul  Renouard  makes  his  drawing  of  this 
curious  and  touching  interior,  we  gossip  hour  after 
hour  about  all  sorts  of  things.  We  discuss  horticult- 
ure apropos  of  the  nasturtiums  and  sweet-peas  that  are 
planted  in  pots  on  the  window-sill,  together  with  a  box 
of  barley  that  is  grown  for  the  cat's  benefit.  For  more 
than  a  year  the  cat  has  been  sick. 

"  Inflammation  of  the  stomach,  monsieur,"  observes 
Madame  Salomon,  kissing  the  cat's  face  ecstatically. 
•'  Poor  pussy  cannot  digest," 

"  Is  there  no  remedy,  madame  ?" 

"  No,  monsieur;  every  morning  we  give  him  two  eggs 
and  some  milk,  but  he  is  beyond  hope ;  we  shall  lose 
him  soon." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?" 

"  Only  eight  years,  Alas  !  he  will  die  young,  but  he 
will  have  had  a  pleasant  life  as  long  as  it  lasted,  and 
been  a  fine  tomcat,  a  fine,  dear,  darling  tomcat.  It  will 
be  a  cruel  blow  to  us  to  lose  him!"  And  Madame  Sa- 
lomon once  more  kisses  the  poor  lean  cat,  and  Chechel 
joins  in  the  chorus  of  lamentations,  and  the  poor  lean 
cat  receives  more  ecstatic  caresses. 

In  order  to  interrupt  the  current  of  dismal  thoughts 
produced  by  the  incident  of  the  cat's  malady,  I  draw 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  191 

out  old  Salomon,  who  in  his  day  was  a  sort  of  Hanlon- 
Lee,  a  circus  tumbler  and  a  dancer,  and  who  like  all 
artistes  is  gifted  with  a  considerable  dose  of  vanity.  He 
tells  us  about  his  debut  at  Paris  at  the  old  Cirque,  and 
how  one  day  that  he  wore  a  very  pretty  Bohemian  cos- 
tume, he  noticed  in  the  greenroom  during  the  entractes 
a  gentleman  holding  a  sheet  of  paper  at  which  every- 
body was  looking.  He  approached  and  recognized  his 
own  portrait.  The  gentleman  asked  him  if  he  would 
like  to  have  it,  and  handed  it  to  him  after  sisfninor  it 
with  the  initials  P.  D.  "  It  was  Paul  Delaroche,  mon- 
sieur," adds  old  Salomon  with  pride,  as  he  concludes 
his  story.  "  But  I  have  the  portrait  no  longer.  Some- 
body took  it." 

"  You  let  some  minx  carry  it  off,"  breaks  in  Madame 
Salomon. 

"  Ah  !  AnaTs,  I  was  young  then." 

"  And  good-looking,"  responds  Anais. 

"  As  nature  made  me." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  Meyerbeer  T'  I  ask. 

"  No,  monsieur,  Meyerbeer  was  before  my  time.  And 
then,  when  one  is  young  one  does  not  pay  attention.  I 
knew  Perrot  and  Carlotta  Grisi.  Perrot  earned  a  sfreat 
deal  of  money.  He  had  21,000  francs  a  year  at  the 
Opera.  *  He  asked  for  an  increase,  which  was  refused, 
and  then  he  made  a  tour  in  Germany  and  came  back  to 
Paris  with  200,000  florins,  monsieur — 200,000  florins ! 
I  knew  Perrot  very  well.  He  was  the  last  of  the  great 
dancers.  Nowadays  there  are  no  male  dancers  left. 
There  are  acrobats,  men  with  strong  legs ;  whereas  the 
dancer  ought  not  to  make  a  display  of  his  strength,  but 
rather  of  his  grace ;  on  the  stage  he  ought  not  to  look 
like  a  man,  but  like  something  vapory." 

''Que  vouiez-vous,  Monsieur  Salomon?"  I  said,  "the 
old  and  good  traditions  are  no  longer  observed." 


192 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


"  No,  monsieur,  modern  dancing  has  been  ruined  by 
the  Italian  system.  The  pupils  are  allowed  to  dance 
at  liberty  too  soon.  A  dancer  ought  to  work  at  least 
two  years  at  the  bar,  making  all  the  movements  and 
gaining  perfect  elasticity  before  he  dances  at  liberty. 
With  the  Italian  system  you  get  excellent  sujets  who 
execute  all  the  steps  well,  but  who  go  no  further,  and 
who  never  become  artists.  Do  you  understand  me, 
monsieur?  You  have  doubtless  some  notions  about 
the  art  of  dancing." 

I  assure  M.  Salomon  that  I  have  some  vague  ideas 
about  choregraphy,  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  follow  his 
technical  explanations,  and  thereupon  we  discuss  some 
of  the  leading  artists  of  the  day — Leontine  Beaugrand, 
Sangalli,  Zucchi,  Carmencita,  Mile.  Theodore,  and  all  the 
famous  ladies  of  the  Opera,  on  each  of  whom  old  Salo- 
mon, Anais,  and  Chechel  have  their  say.  Chechel,  who 
has  just  returned  from  a  tour  in  the  provinces,  where 
she  has  been  dancing  at  Lille  and  at  the  Grand  Theatre 
at  Valenciennes,  is  as  ardent  as  her  old  father  in  de- 
fending the  classical  dance.  Meanwhile  she  goes  on 
unravelling  the  pretty  confusion  that  she  has  on  her 
knees,  and  winds  up  each  length  of  ribbon  and  of  tinsel 
that  can  be  used  again. 

Chechel,  who  figures  on  play-bills  as  "  Mile.  Rachel 
Mistral,  premiere  danseuse,"  is  as  interesting  a  charac- 
ter as  her  old  father.  She  is  an  impressario  on  a  small 
scale,  and  provides  ballets  for  the  provincial  theatres, 
together  with  dancers,  costumes,  music,  and  all.  Lately, 
she  tells  us,  she  mounted  ten  ballets  in  one  month. 

"Good  heavens!"  I  exclaimed.  "And  how  do  you 
manage  it,  mademoiselle  1  To  begin  at  the  beginning, 
how  do  you  start  T 

"  I  start  with  a  musician,  monsieur.  I  say  to  him, 
'  Play  me  this  and  play  me  that,'  and  when  he  plays  a 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 95 

few  measures  that  please  me  I  say,  '  Note  that,  and 
note  that,'  and  so  I  combine  a  Httle  score  with  adagios, 
pizzicatos,  variations,  and  the  rest.  Then  I  go  to  an 
agency  and  engage  two  second  dancers  and  eight 
coryphees,  and  thus  form  my  company  with  myself  as 
premiere  and  maitresse  de  ballet.  Then  we  rehearse, 
and  I  teach  the  women  their  variations  and  get  their 
costumes  ready,  and  then  we  go  wherever  I  have  an 
engagement." 

"  You  make  your  costumes  yourself  ?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur ;  for  the  provinces  it  would  be  im- 
possible otherwise.  I  could  not  afford  to  buy  the  cos- 
tumes. I  provide  everything  at  so  much  a  week.  .  .  . 
No.  It  is  not  an  easy  life.  Things  do  not  always  go 
on  smoothly.  And  the  women  I  have  to  take  with  me  ! 
Gracious  heavens !  monsieur,  you  cannot  imagine  what 
trouble  I  have  sometimes ;"  and  turning  to  her  moth- 
er, who  has  finished  her  chalet-coffret,  and  is  now  busy 
making  artificial  flowers,  Chechel  continues :  "  You  re- 
member, mama,  la  Bugeaud,  that  pretty  little  girl  that 
was  so  beautifully  made  and  so  innocent-looking  '^.  Al- 
coholic, mama,  morphinomaniac,  and  full  of  vices  that  I 
cannot  name." 

Thereupon  Mile.  Rachel  entered  into  minute  de- 
tails about  this  girl  drinking  a  bottle  of  gin  a  day,  this 
one  being  a  thief,  and  another  one  scandalizing  every- 
body by  her  amorous  caprices.  Then  she  described  her 
own  life  in  the  provinces ;  the  humble  furnished  lodg- 
ings where  she  cooks  her  own  food  on  a  portable  petro- 
leum stove;  the  desertion  of  the  dancers  whom  she  has 
to  replace  by  her  own  efforts,  the  cold  theatres,  the 
coughs  and  bronchitis,  the  managers  who  fail  and  do 
not  pay — all  the  thousand  and  one  woes  and  disappoint- 
ments of  the  lower  walks  of  the  theatrical  profession, 
where  a  prodigious  sum  of  efforts  is  necessary  in  order 


196  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

to  earn  a  ridiculously  small  profit.     All  this  Rachel  re- 
lates gayly,  as  she  unravels  her  ribbons. 

"And  with  all  that,"  adds  Madame  Salomon,  "it  is 
not  like  the  Opera,  where  there  are  as  many  off  nights 
as  working  nights." 

"  No,"  says  Rachel,  "we  have  to  dance  every  night, 
and  every  night  a  different  ballet.  In  the  provinces  the 
public  at  the  theatre  is  the  same  every  night,  so  that 
we  are  obliged  to  vary.  To  me  it  is  all  one,  but  the 
others,  you  know,  they  get  mixed  up  sometimes,  and 
cannot  remember  their  variations,  and  then,  while  I  am 
dancing,  I  have  to  prompt  them, '  Come  on ;  it  is  the 
coda.'     The  coda,  you  know,  is  the  end." 

"  You  must  be  worn  out  after  a  month  or  two  of 
work  like  that — a  fresh  ballet  every  night,  rehearsals  in 
the  afternoon,  performance  in  the  evening,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  looking  after  your  women  and  their  costumes." 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  it  is  hard  work,  but  I  am  accustomed 
to  it.  I  eat  well.  Mama  has  taught  me  to  like  good 
food.  I  do  not  drink  as  much  as  one  bottle  of  wine  in 
a  whole  month,  and  never  a  spot  of  liqueur  of  any  kind. 
My  feet,  too,  are  always  in  good  order.  My  forte  is 
pointes.  My  great  toe  nail  is  double  the  natural  thick- 
ness, and  I  never  have  to  cut  it.  And  mama  has  taught 
me  a  dodge  for  the  feet,  nest-ce  pas  mama  /" 

"  Oui,  ma  cocotte','  replies  the  mother,  without  looking 
up  from  the  black  daisies  that  she  is  making.  "  An  ex- 
cellent system,  monsieur.  It  is  a  state  secret ;  do  not 
reveal  it.  I  rub  her  feet  with  horse -fat  melted  in  a 
bain-marie.  I  rub  her  spinal  column  with  horse-fat, 
too,  and  then,  proot  ....  prrroot  ....  she  jumps  as  high 
as  the  ceiling." 

"Ah,  monsieur!"  exclaims  old  Salomon,  with  enthu- 
siasm, ''ma  fille  cest  du  feu,  quand  elle  ne  dans e pas  elle 
est  malade  "  (when  she  does  not  dance  she  is  sick). 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  1 97 

Meanwhile,  Madame  Salomon,  with  her  spectacles  on, 
because  she  is  makinsf  mournins^  flowers — oh  !  other- 
wise  she  would  need  no  spectacles,  although  she  is 
seventy  years  of  age ;  but  the  black  is  difficult  to  see — 
Madame  Salomon  continues  to  make  black  daisies,  cut- 
ting the  pompons  with  scissors,  dipping  the  top  into  a 
gallipot  of  black  gum,  and  then  into  a  box  containing 
glistening  scales  of  black  gelatine  to  make  the  grain 
of  the  heart  of  the  flower. 

"  How  busy  you  seem,  Madame  Salomon,"  I  say. 

"  I  must  make  haste.  I  have  to  finish  the  gross  by 
to-morrow  night.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  made  mourn- 
ing flowers." 

"  Did  you  make  those  roses,  too  ?"  I  asked,  pointing 
to  some  artificial  roses  stuck  in  a  potato  on  a  stand 
beside  her, 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  very  ordinary.  I  know  all  the 
kinds  of  roses — Marechal  Niel,  Souvenir  de  la  Mal- 
maison,  Roses  The ;  any  variety  you  like  to  name  I  can 
make.  I  have  a  brevet  from  the  ex-Queen  of  Spain,  but 
we  are  none  the  richer  for  that.  It  was  during  the  Em- 
pire. I  had  an  establishment  of  my  own  then,  whereas 
now  I  have  to  work  for  others." 

"  And  the  daisies .f*" 

"  They  are  mourning  flowers  for  Italy ;  here  are  some 
gray  half-mourning  flowers  for  Belgium ;  the  death  of 
Prince  Baudouin  has  made  the  business  very  lively  this 
winter.  Ah  !  if  the  Queen  of  England  would  only  die, 
what  a  demand  there  would  be  for  mourning  flowers  ! 
I  could  not  make  enouQ^h." 

In  the  mental  excitement  produced  by  this  thought 
the  old  lady  sneezes. 

"  God  bless  you,  meimre'''  says  Rachel. 

"  Oui,  fna  cocotte,  merci'''  replies  Madame  Salomon,  as 
she  continues  her  little  story. 


198  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS   . 

"  I  make  these  daisies  for  three  francs  a  gross.  A 
regular  fleuriste  would  make  a  gross  in  a  single  day.  I 
take  two  days,  working  about  six  hours  each  day,  be- 
cause I  have  to  do  the  cooking  for  Bibi  (her  husband) 
and  Chechel — so  I  earn  only  five  sous  an  hour.  These 
flowers,  monsieur,  are  worth  at  the  trade  price  about 
three  sous  each.  The  cost  of  the  material,  of  course,  has 
to  be  calculated.  I  do  not  furnish  the  material.  All 
that  is  bought  wholesale.  The  petals  are  cut  out  and 
stamped  by  machinery ;  the  gelatine  for  the  grain  is 
made  by  one  man  ;  the  aniline  colors  for  dyeing,  the 
wire  stalks,  the  fine  nansouk,  the  wire,  all  the  raw  ma- 
terial costs  money." 

A  smothered  cry  from  the  lean  cat  suddenly  dis- 
tracted our  attention. 

"  Pauvre  moumoutte  /"  murmurs  Madame  Salomon, 
"  he  is  sick  ;  he  took  some  rhubarb  this  morning." 

Rachel  takes  the  cat  in  her  arms  and  kisses  him, 
calling  him  "  my  son,"  "  my  brother,"  "  my  darling,"  and 
many  other  tender  names. 

Gradually  the  conversation  wanders  back  to  dancing, 
to  the  travels  of  old  Salomon  in  Havana,  his  adventures 
in  a  shipwreck,  his  arrival  in  Europe  penniless,  and 
then  by  some  strange  caprice  we  come  to  discuss  the 
quality  of  the  beefsteak  which  the  Salomon  family  had 
eaten  for  breakfast,  and  so  talk  about  the  sin  of  gluttony, 
against  which  the  old  mother  protests. 

"  Where,"  she  asks — "  where  is  the  sin  in  enjoying 
the  good  things  of  the  earth  ?  God  is  Nature.  Nat- 
ure produces  good  things,  and  it  is  natural  for  us  to 
enjoy  them.     There  is  no  sin  in  good  eating." 

"  The  sin  is  in  excess,"  says  old  Salomon. 

"  I  see  no  harm  in  enjoying  life,"  continues  the 
mother.  "  I  do  not  believe  in  Nature,  or  instinct,  or  in 
anything  else." 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  I99 

"  Ah  !  I  believe,  mama,"  bursts  out  Mile.  Rachel,  with 
enthusiasm,  "  I  believe.  I  say  my  little  prayer  every 
night  before  I  go  to  sleep.  Je  7te  la  rate  jamais.  It 
would  bring  me  bad  luck  to  miss  my  prayers." 

"  Oh !  Rachel  is  full  of  superstition,  monsieur,"  the 
mother  explains.  "  I  do  not  know  where  she  gets  her 
ideas  from.  This  morning  I  happened  to  put  a  pair  of 
boots  on  a  table.  '  Do  not  do  that,'  said  Rachel ;  '  it 
means  a  quarrel.'  Yesterday  when  she  came  back  from 
Valenciennes  she  brought  me  as  a  present  an  umbrella. 
I  was  going  to  open  it  to  see.  '  Ah  !  mama,'  she  cried, 
with  horror, '  do  not  open  it  in  the  house,  and  papa  sick, 
too.  It  means  death  to  open  an  umbrella  in  a  room.' 
I  do  not  know  where  she  learns  such  nonsense." 

Toys,  artificial  flowers,  roller-skates,  how  many  indus- 
tries find  shelter  beneath  this  humble  roof  '^.  Old  Salo- 
mon manufactures  roller-skates,  but  besides  that  he  is 
curator  of  the  skates  at  the  Opera,  and  professor  of 
skating  at  the  Opera.  It  is  he,  too,  who  paints  the  char- 
acter heads  at  the  Opera. 

Unfortunately,  there  is  only  one  piece  in  which  M. 
Salomon's  services  are  needed — namely,  Le  Propliete, 
where  there  is  a  skating  scene  in  the  ballet. 

"  Whenever  Le  Propliete  is  produced,"  Madame  Salo- 
mon explains,  "papa  receives  twenty-five  francs  for  re- 
pairing the  skates." 

"  And  a  franc  and  a  half  fixed  payment  for  attend- 
ance," adds  the  old  man. 

"  The  repairs,"  explains  the  old  lady,  "  cost  always 
five  or  six  francs,  and  the  rest,  fourteen  or  fifteen  francs, 
is  for  us.  Fifteen  francs  are  fifteen  francs.  We  are 
not  rich." 

"  And  the  character  heads  ?" 

"That,  monsieur,  is  an  art,"  begins  old  Salomon.  "  You 
need  sentiment  and  experience.     The  epiderm  must  be 


200  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

seen  through  the  color.  In  the  opera  of  Le  Mage  I 
have  twenty-four  heads  to  paint  in  seventeen  minutes." 

''  Diable  !  you  have  to  look  sharp,  eh.f'  And  do  you 
give  skating  lessons  at  the  Opera  all  the  time  V 

"  I  give  a  lesson  once  a  week,  monsieur.  The  ad- 
ministration does  not  exact  many  lessons.  All  that  is 
required  is  that  whenever  Le  PropJiete  is  played  I 
should  have  sixty-eight  good  skaters  ready,  and  know- 
ing the  figures  of  the  ballet.  Ah  !  when  they  do  play 
Le  Prophele  I  have  my  hands  full.  In  the  sixty-eight 
pairs  of  skates  that  are  used  I  have  no  less  than  4000 
screws  to  look  after,  monsieur,  4000  screws  !  Quelle  re- 
sponsadilite,  monsieur^  quelle  responsabilite  /" 

"  And  the  toys.  Monsieur  Salomon  .?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  trade  I  never  learnt.  I  began  en  ama- 
teur; and  although  I  have  never  given  any  information 
to  anybody,  my  name  is  in  the  trade  directory." 

"  We  must  remember,  too,  that  the  wholesale  dealers 
have  helped  us  a  good  deal,"  remarks  Madame  Salomon. 
"  The  busy  season  is  from  July  to  November.  Papa 
puts  the  toys  together;  I  varnish  them.  I  have  al- 
ways been  complimented  on  my  varnishing." 

And  so  Abraham  and  Ana'is  and  their  daughter 
Rachel  live  happily  and  laboriously,  earning  little,  but 
content  with  little,  the  old  couple,  like  Philemon  and 
Baucis,  never  addressing  one  another  without  some  term 
of  endearment,  the  middle-aged  daughter  gay,  laborious, 
and  happy  like  her  parents,  earning  her  living  and  help- 
ing her  mama  and  her  pep^re  ckeri  when  the  times  are 
hard,  as  they  must  be  sometimes ;  for  Le  Propliete  has 
not  been  played  at  the  Opera  for  two  years,  foreign 
courts  do  not  go  into  mourning  every  winter,  and  there 
are  seasons  when  the  wholesale  dealers  do  not  buy 
chalets-caskets  by  the  gross.     However,  as  conservateur 


PROLETARIAN    PARIS  20I 

des  patins.professeur  de patinage,  and  painter  of  charac- 
ter-heads at  the  Opera,  old  Salomon  is  entitled  to  draw 
an  annual  salary  of  some  $80,  and  to  put  on  his  cards, 
just  like  Mile.  Mauri  or  Mme.  Krauss : 


A.  Salomon 

de  rOpera 


In  the  spectacle  of  Parisian  life  this  slender  and  agile 
old  man  has  his  role  to  play,  and  he  is  happy  in  play- 


mg  it. 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANCAISE 


THE  Comedie-Frangaise  is  not  only  a  national  mon- 
ument, but  a  historical  monument  most  intimate- 
ly connected  with  the  history  of  French  literature.  It 
has  been  in  existence  more  than  two  centuries.  It  was 
one  of  the  glories  of  France  under  Louis  XIV.;  it  re- 
mains one  of  the  glories  of  France  under  the  third  re- 
public, and,  by  the  admission  of  all,  the  first  theatre  in 
the  world  Time  never  respects  that  which  has  been 
created  without  its  aid,  it  has  been  said,  and  so,  like  all 
that  is  durable,  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  is  the  work  of 
time.  Its  origin  dates  back  to  the  reign  of  Henri  IV., 
when  some  comedians  came  and  established  themselves 
near  the  Hotel  Saint-Paul,  and  founded  the  Theatre  du 
Marais.  A  few  years  later  other  comedians  built  a  new 
theatre,  which  Corneille  and  Rotrou  soon  rendered  illus- 
trious ;  this  was  the  theatre  of  the  Hotel  de  Boursrosfne. 
Next  we  find  the  theatres  of  the  Petit  Bourbon  and  the 
Palais  Royal,  where  Moliere's  pieces  were  first  played, 
and  Racine's  maiden  piece,  La  Thebdide.  In  1673  Mo- 
liere  died;  his  company  divided;  and  up  to  1680  we 
find  three  theatres  in  Paris — the  theatre  of  the  Marais, 
the  company  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  and  the  com- 
pany of  the  Theatre  Guenegaud.  In  1680  Louis  XIV. 
ordered  the  amalgamation  of  the  two  principal  com- 
panies, under  the  title  of  Comedie-Frangaise,  and  created 


206  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

a  monopoly  in  favor  of  this  new  theatre,  "  in  order  to 
render  the  representations  of  the  comedians  more  per- 
fect," The  foundation  of  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  forms 
part  of  the  vast  scheme  of  centraHzation  which  Louis 
XIV.  realized  during  his  long  reign.  His  Majesty  "  Le 
Roi  Soleil  "  organized  literature  and  the  arts,  and  made 
Versailles  the  capital  of  all  the  artistic  manifestations 
whose  splendor  he  sought  to  legitimate  and  codify  by 
associating  them,  with  grand  institutions,  the  function 
of  which  was  to  carry  everything  to  its  highest  degree 
of  perfection.  The  Academy,  the  Opera,  and  the  Come- 
die-Fran9aise  were  organized  by  Louis  XIV.  with  very 
high  aims,  and  not  merely  with  a  view  to  the  distraction 
of  himself  and  of  his  courtiers.  The  theatre  was  largely 
founded,  as  the  old  historian  Chapuzeau  says  of  the 
Academy,  to  spread  the  influence  of  the  King  in  spread- 
ing the  French  language,  "  for  a  prince  nowadays  with 
the  French  tongue  alone,  which  has  spread  everywhere, 
has  the  same  advantages  that  Mithridates  had  with 
twenty-two." 

In  the  precious  archives  of  the  Comedie-Fran9aise, 
in  the  Register  of  Lagrange,  the  friend  and  fellow-actor 
of  Moliere,  is  preserved  the  lettre  de  cachet,  dated  Oc- 
tober 2  1,  1680,  by  which  Louis  XIV.  constituted  the 
association  and  partnership  of  the  comedians.  But,  as 
we  have  seen,  this  date  cannot  be  regarded  as  that  of 
their  orimn.  In  the  order  of  time  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne  is  the  true  ancestor  of  the  Comedie  -  Fran9aise, 
and  the  year  1548  should  figure  on  its  letter-paper  rath- 
er than  1680.  In  the  reign  of  Charles  VI.  the  Con- 
freres de  la  Passion  obtained  the  privilege  of  opening 
the  first  theatre  known  in  France,  on  the  express  condi- 
tion of  playing  only  sacred  pieces;  but  November  17, 
1548,  the  Parliament  consented  to  renew  their  privi- 
lege, on  the  equally  express  condition  that  they  should 


EXTERIOR    OF    THE    THEATRE 


•  play  only  profane  pieces, ''  des  pieces  prop hanes,  honnestes 
et  licitesr  Thereupon  the  "  Confreres  "  withdrew,  and 
the  true  comedians  arrived,  and  built  themselves  a  thea- 
tre in  an  appurtenance  of  the  hotel  of  the  Dukes  of 
Burgundy  in  the  Rue  Mauconseil.  This  theatre  during 
one  hundred  and  thirty-two  years  was  the  delight  of  the 
Parisians ;  it  was  there  that  the  plays  of  Jodelle,  Garnier, 
Larivey,  Rotrou,  Corneille,  and  Racine  were  originally 
performed ;  and  when  it  was  united  by  order  of  the 
King  with  the  theatre  of  the  successors  of  Moliere,  its 
repertory  became  in  the  main  the  classical  repertory 
which  is  still  played  at  the  theatre  of  the  Rue  Richelieu 
at  the  present  day. 

Since  1680  the  Comedie  -  Fran9aise  has  frequently 
changed  its  home.  We  find  it  successively  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  then  Rue  Mazarin,  in  a  tennis-court,  the  site  of 


2o8  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

which  is  now  marked  by  the  Passage  du  Pont  Neuf ; 
then,  in  1689,  in  the  Rue  des  Fosses  Saint- Germain, 
now  called  Rue  de  I'Ancienne  Comedie,  opposite  the 
Cafe  Procope.  In  this  latter  house  were  played  the 
pieces  of  Regnard  and  Dancourt,  of  Dufresny  and  Des- 
touches,  of  Crebillon,  Lesage,  Voltaire,  Marivaux,  Cres- 
set, Piron,  Diderot,  and  Sedaine.  In  1770  the  Come'die- 
Fran9aise  migrated  to  the  Tuileries,  where  it  remained 
until  1782.  It  was  there  that  Beaumarchais  had  his 
Barbier  de  Seville  played,  and  there  that  Voltaire's  Irene 
was  made  the  pretext  for  that  unheard-of  triumph  which 
Bachaumont  has  described  in  the  minutest  details  in 
his  secret  memoirs,  and  which  has  been  immortalized 
by  engraving ;  the  marble  bust  of  Voltaire  was  crowned 
on  the  stage  in  presence  of  the  living  model,  and  amid 
the  acclamations  of  an  enthusiastic  crowd.  In  our  own 
days  Victor  Hugo  was  the  hero  of  a  similar  triumph. 

In  1782  the  comedians  took  possession  of  a  new 
theatre,  now  called  the  Odeon,  where  they  remained  un- 
til they  were  suppressed  by  the  Revolution  in  1793. 
During  these  troublous  times  the  actors  were  impris- 
oned, and  the  existence  of  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  was 
interrupted  until  the  First  Consul  reconstituted  the 
theatre  in  1799,  and  installed  it  in  the  house  in  the 
Rue  Richelieu  where  it  has  remained  ever  since. 

Here,  indeed,  is  a  glorious  past  and  incontestable  an- 
tiquity, but  the  comedians  never  seem  to  have  paid  much 
heed  to  their  remoter  origin.  They  prefer  to  regard 
Moliere  as  their  ancestor  and  founder.  As  has  been 
said  by  M.  Regnier,  a  former  societaire,  and  the  historian 
of  the  Comedie,  "  the  great  king,  in  constituting  their 
partnership,  in  giving  them  a  pension,  in  reserving  for 
himself  the  final  admission  or  rejection  of  new  members, 
and  in  making  them  his  comedians  in  ordinary,  gave 
them,  it  is  true,  durability  and  material  existence  ;  but 


STATUE     OF     CORNEILLE     IN    THE    VESTIBULE 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  2II 

the  great  poet  gave  them  his  glory  and  his  name,  which 
in  times  of  danger  has  proved  more  efficacious  than 
contracts  and  regulations  in  protecting  the  House  of 
Moliere."  It  was,  indeed,  the  name  of  Moliere  that 
raised  the  theatre  from  its  ruins  in  the  year  VIII.;  it 
was  the  name  of  Moliere  that  saved  it  in  1834,  when 
there  was  talk  of  allowing  to  degenerate  into  a  common 
commercial  enterprise  an  institution  which,  founded  by 
Louis  XIV.,  and  re-established  by  Napoleon,  had  con- 
tinued to  bear  the  name  of  the  Maison  de  Moliere. 


II 


It  is  a  superb  monument,  this  house  of  Moliere,  a 
veritable  Grand  Seigneur's  palace,  with  sumptuous  sa- 
loons, a  staircase  adorned  with  statues,  galleries  full  of 
pictures,  busts,  and  statuary,  and  the  thousand  souvenirs 
that  bear  eloquent  witness  to  a  long  and  glorious  past. 
The  exterior,  from  the  surrounding  colonnade  to  the 
lantern  on  the  summit  of  the  roof,  gives  one  the  im- 
pression of  immutable  and  grandiose  stability.  Even 
the  guichets,  so  primitive  and  so  inconvenient,  where  the 
public  buys  its  checks,  even  the  wooden  movable  pali- 
sading that  contains  the  queue  —  the  closely  packed 
crowd,  like  sheep  in  a  fold  under  the  watchful  and  pa- 
ternal eyes  of  a  policeman  and  a  soldier  of  the  munici- 
pal guard — do  not  offend  at  the  Comedie-Fran9aise,  for 
one  reflects  that  these  things  have  been  so  for  centuries  ; 
to  change  them  would  be  like  removing  landmarks  of 
tradition.  The  narrow  entrance  doors  of  indescribable 
color,  and  innocent  of  all  ornament,  charm  you  because 
they  remind  you  of  another  age.  And  the  grand  ves- 
tibule, which  looks  like  a  Florentine  crypt,  that  spacious 


212  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

vaulted  rotunda  peopled  with  statues,  the  walls  covered, 
with  antique  mirror-glass  in  small  squares,  the  stairways 
that  radiate  on  all  sides,  guarded  by  the  ushers  of  the 
Comedie,  correct  and  courteous,  with  their  heavy  silver 
chains  of  office  hanging  round  their  necks,  how  different 
from  anything  one  has  ever  seen  !  The  contrble,  that 
sort  of  counter-bureau,  softly  lighted  by  oil-lamps,  where 
sit  the  three  judges  who  examine  gravely  your  passport, 
and  pronounce  the  magic  words,  ''Att  pi'-emier  a  gauche,'' 
''Au  deuxieme  a  droite','  the  "open  sesame"  of  this  tem- 
ple of  the  muses !  These  three  examiners,  or  contrb- 
leui's,  are  there  to  protect  three  financial  interests — 
that  of  the  theatre,  that  of  the  authors,  who  are  con- 
stituted into  a  Societe  des  Auteurs  dramatiques,  and 
that  of  the  poor,  represented  by  the  Administration  des 
Hopitaux.  But  let  us  neglect  !or  the  moment  ques- 
tions of  administration,  and  rather  feast  our  eyes  on 
the  splendors  of  art  that  we  find  on  all  sides.  Facing 
the  contrble  stands  a  marble  statue  by  David  d'Angers 
representing  Talma  studying  a  role,  in  the  costume 
and  attitude  of  a  Ceesar  thinking  of  the  destinies  of  his 
empire.  On  either  side  of  Talma  are  allegoric  statues 
of  Tragedy  and  Comedy  by  Duret,  and  to  the  left  Cle- 
singer's  statue  of  Rachel,  also  representing  Tragedy, 
draped  in  an  antique  peplum,  and  holding  a  poniard  in 
her  hand.  In  the  vestibule  of  the  entrance  from  the 
Place  du  Palais  Royal,  seated  in  niches  softly  lighted 
by  two  modest  reflectors,  are  the  two  tutelary  geniuses 
of  the  house,  Moliere  and  Corneille,  chiselled  in  marble 
by  the  sculptors  Audran  and  Falguiere.  Let  us  pass 
along  the  broad  lobby  between  two  rows  of  marble  busts 
and  walk  up  the  grand  staircase,  which  is  comparatively 
recent,  having  been  added  by  the  architect  M.  Chabrol, 
when  the  Theatre  Frangais  was  enlarged  in  1864,  thanks 
to  land  gained  by  street  improvements  on  the  side  of 


GALLERY    OF    BUSTS 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  215 

the  Place  du  Palais  Royal.  The  public  foyer  and  the 
whole  south  fagade  of  the  theatre  date  from  the  same 
year.  This  staircase,  with  its  marble  caryatides  by  Car- 
rier Belleuse,  its  rich  iron  balustrade,  its  fine  architect- 
ural lines,  deserves  nothing  but  praise.  Unfortunately 
it  leads  only  to  a  lobby,  and  one  must  turn  to  the  left 
to  enter  the  public  foyer  or  crush-room.  This  foyer 
looks  like  a  rich  and  artistic  salon,  with  its  profusion 
of  delicate  gilding,  its  pilasters,  its  mirrors,  its  graceful 
ornamentation,  and  fine  decorative  paintings.  Seated 
comfortably  in  an  arm-chair  or  on  a  sofa,  one  can  con- 
template at  one's  ease  a  rare  collection  of  masterpieces 
of  French  sculpture  of  the  eighteenth  century  placed 
around  the  room.  In  the  midst  of  a  mass  of  verdure 
and  flowers  Voltaire  occupies  the  place  of  honor  at  one 
end,  not  as  a  dramatic  author,  not  as  one  of  the  grand 
ancestors  of  the  house,  but  because  his  statue  is  the 
finest  that  Houdon  ever  made.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  on  each  side  of  the  monumental  chimney-piece, 
are  busts  of  Moliere  and  Corneille,  and  in  front  of  each 
of  the  sixteen  fluted  pilasters  that  divide  the  walls  into 
panels  stands  on  its  pedestal  a  marble  bust  of  some 
celebrated  author,  by  Houdon,  Caffieri,  Pajou,  Boizot,  or 
others — an  admirable  series,  which  is  continued  along 
the  adjoining  gallery,  at  the  end  of  which  we  admire 
Clesinger's  seated  statue  of  George  Sand.  The  foyer 
and  the  gallery  of  busts  constitute  for  the  public  the 
museum  of  the  Comedie  -  Fran9aise.  But  these  two 
rooms  contain  only  a  very  small  part  of  the  artistic 
treasures  of  the  house.  In  every  passage,  in  every  room, 
on  every  stairway,  on  every  wall,  there  are  busts,  pict- 
ures, engravings,  historical  souvenirs,  which  the  public 
does  not  see.  The  artists'  greenroom,  the  committee- 
room,  the  cabinet  of  the  administrator -general  in  par- 
ticular, are  most  interesting,  but  of  course  unless  you 


2i6  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

have  friends  at  court  you  cannot  enter  these  rooms. 
Happily,  as  far  at  least  as  the  sculpture  is  concerned,  the 
greater  part  of  the  masterpieces  is  placed  permanently 
within  the  pubhc  view,  in  the  foyer  and  the  passages. 

Considering  the  antiquity  of  the  Comedie,  the  museum, 
is  of  comparatively  recent  origin ;  its  creation,  in  fact, 
only  dates  from  the  last  century.  In  1743  there  was 
only  one  portrait  in  the  greenroom  —  namely,  that  of 
Mademoiselle  Duclos  as  Ariane,  by  Largilliere — a  most 
beautiful  work  to  begin  with.  Gradually  other  portraits 
were  added,  but  the  idea  of  creating  a  museum  or  a 
really  historical  gallery  at  the  Theatre  Frangais  was  not 
formulated  until  the  sculptor  Jean  Jacques  Caifieri  sug- 
gested to  the  artists  that  they  might  make  their  green- 
room "  le  depot  des  portraits  de  ceiLX  qui  out  illustre  la 
schier  It  was  in  1773  that  Cafifieri  first  entered  into  re- 
lations with  the  comedians  by  offering  to  make  a  bust 
of  Piron,  who  had  just  died,  on  condition  of  receiving 
his  entries  for  life.  The  comedians  accepted  the  offer, 
and  henceforward,  in  exchange  for  each  bust  that  he 
made,  Caffieri  received  a  life  entry  from  the  Comedie- 
Fran9aise,  with  the  right  of  transferring  it  to  a  third  per- 
son. Thus  the  comedians  were  able  to  decorate  their 
greenroom  without  opening  their  purses,  and  CafBeri 
did  not  lose  his  pains,  since  he  thus  received  indirectly 
full  price  for  work  which  he  might  have  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  sell  otherwise.  From  the  correspondence  pre- 
served in  the  archives  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  I  find 
that  Caffieri  estimated  his  busts  in  marble  at  3000  francs 
each,  which  sum  represented  precisely  the  price  of  a 
life  entry  to  the  Comedie.  The  comedians  possess  Caf- 
fieri's  masterpiece,  the  magnificent  bust  of  Rotrou,  and 
busts  by  him  in  marble  of  Piron,  La  Chaussee,  De  Bel- 
loy,  J.  B.  Rousseau,  Thomas  Corneille,  Pierre  Corneille, 
and  two  exquisite  busts  in  terra-cotta  of  Ouinault  and 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  219 

La  Fontaine,  which  now  stand  on  the  staircase  leading 
to  the  administrative  department,  where  the  pubhc  does 
not  see  them. 

Other  artists,  having  become  acquainted  wath  the 
system  of  indirect  payment  proposed  by  Caffieri  and 
accepted  by  the  Comedie,  offered  their  services  to  the 
comedians  on  the  same  conditions.  In  1778  Houdon 
offered  to  make  the  bust  of  Voltaire  in  exchange  for 
a  life  entry.  Pajou,  Foucou,  Boizot,  and  Moret  made 
busts  of  eminent  authors  on  the  same  terms,  and  year 
by  year  the  greenroom  grew  richer  and  richer  in  works 
of  sculpture.  In  1780  Madame  Duvivier,  niece  and 
heiress  of  Voltaire,  gave  to  the  Comedie  the  pearl  of 
its  museum,  that  superb  marble  figure  of  Voltaire  by 
Houdon  which  is  now  the  chief  ornament  of  the  public 
foyer.  At  the  present  day  the  riches  of  the  Comedie 
are  so  abundant  that  for  want  of  room  even  master- 
pieces have  to  be  left  in  dark  corners,  unseen  and  al- 
most forgotten.  In  the  actors'  greenroom  and  in  the 
public  foyer,  almost  all  the  master- portraitists  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  sculptors  and  painters  alike,  may  be 
studied  in  their  best  work.  The  sculpture  is  particu- 
larly admirable.  The  statues  and  busts  of  the  museum 
of  the  Comedie  may  be  compared  with  the  antique 
treasures  of  the  museums  of  Italy,  and  the  conclusion 
will  be  that  the  sculptor's  art  never  achieved  its  end 
with  more  truth  and  more  of  the  ideal  than  it  did  by 
the  chisel  of  Houdon,  Caffieri,  Pajou,  and  David  d'An- 
gers.  For  they  are  really  splendid  and  radiant  with 
beauty  and  genius,  these  busts  to  which  time  has  con- 
tributed the  master-touches,  giving  life  to  the  flesh,  and 
accentuating  the  expression  according  to  the  sculptor's 
indications. 


2  20  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


III 


After  this  digression  on  the  history  of  the  museum 
of  the  Comedie,  let  us  resume  our  visit  to  the  building, 
and  enter  at  once  the  private  apartments  through  the 
doorway  on  the  Place  du  Palais  Royal,  over  which  is 
written,  "  Administration."  Opening  the  folding-doors 
covered  with  green  moleskin,  we  find  ourselves  at  the 
foot  of  a  simple  and  dimly  lighted  staircase,  but  at  each 
landing  there  are  marble  busts  —  Corneille,  Moliere, 
Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  Mademoiselle  Mars  by  David 
d'Angers,  La  Fontaine  and  Quinault  by  Caffieri ;  the 
walls  are  covered  with  portraits  of  the  famous  come- 
dians of  old — Mesdafnes  Champmesle,  Dangeville,  Pre- 
ville,  Favart,  Bourgoin,  Raucourt  —  charming  appari- 
tions that  one  sees  through  the  luminous  golden  glaze 
of  age,  smiling  and  passing  gracefully  against  back- 
grounds of  verdure  and  gardens,  reminding  one  of  the 
beribboned  pastorals  of  Watteau  and  Lancret.  Here, 
more  severe  in  aspect,  is  the  portrait  of  Talma  by  La- 
grenee  the  younger,  and  the  portrait  of  Rachel  by  Ge- 
rome.  Turning  to  the  right,  we  pass  the  offices  of  the 
two  secretaries  and  enter  the  cabinet  of  the  adminis- 
trator-general—  a  charming  room,  entirely  draped  in 
tapestry.  The  medallions  over  the  doors  represent  Mo- 
liere  and  Corneille  ;  on  the  console  is  a  statuette  in 
terra-cotta  of  Corneille  by  Caffieri,  and  terra-cotta  busts 
of  Lekain  and  Mademoiselle  Clairon,  the  latter  by  Le- 
moyne.  From  this  cabinet  we  pass  into  the  committee- 
room,  where  Pajou's  masterpiece,  a  terra-cotta  bust  of 
Bertinazzi,  has  the  place  of  honor  on  the  chimney-shelf. 
This  committee-room  is  the  meeting-place  of  the  tribunal 


THE     GRAND     STAIRCASE 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  225 

of  comedians,  who  hear  and  judge  the  plays  offered  to 
them  by  dramatic  authors,  and  it  is  here  that  the  socie- 
t aires,  assembled  in  committee,  under  the  presidency  of 
the  administrator-general,  manage  all  the  affairs  and  in- 
terests of  the  House  of  Moliere.  Ouittino;  this  com- 
mittee-room,  which,  like  all  the  rooms  in  the  building, 
is  a  museum  in  itself,  we  pass  between  a  mute  escort  of 
portraits  along  the  passage  leading  to  the  stage,  to  the 
greenroom,  to  the  dressing-rooms,  and  all  that  part  of 
the  theatre  which  may  be  spoken  of  as  being  behind 
the  curtain,  and  therefore  full  of  mystery  to  the  public. 
The  greenroom  of  the  Theatre  Francais  must  be  a  most 
delightful  place,  one  thinks,  and  it  must  be  a  great  priv- 
ilege to  be  able  to  go  there  of  an  evening  and  gossip 
with  the  artists.  The  greenroom  is  certainly  a  delight- 
ful place  for  all  sorts  of  reasons.  It  is  full  of  interesting 
pictures  and  precious  souvenirs  of  the  past.  In  this 
double  frame  hung  over  a  Louis  XV.  table  is  an  auto- 
graph signature  of  Moliere,  a  rare  relic,  for  the  auto- 
graphs of  Moliere  hitherto  discovered  do  not  amount  to 
a  dozen.  In  the  same  frame  is  a  venerable  parchment, 
being  the  decree  signed  by  Louis  XIV.  and  counter- 
signed by  Colbert,  granting  a  pension  of  12,000  francs 
a  year  to  the  comedians,  his  Majesty  "■  voulant  gratijier 
et  trailer  hoiiorablement  la  Iroupe  de  ses  co7nediens  fran- 
fois  en  consideraliojt  des  services  quils  rendenl  a  ses  di- 
verlissemejilsT  This  decree  is  dated  from  Versailles, 
24th  August,  1682.  Look  at  the  spinet  in  the  corner  to 
the  right  of  the  chimney-piece.  It  is  signed :  "  Sebas- 
tien  Erard  et  Frere.  Compag.  Privilegiee  du  Roi.  Rue 
du  Mail  No.  37  a  Paris  1790."  This  is  the  instrument 
which  has  served  now  for  nearly  a  century  in  the  per- 
formances of  the  Barbier  de  Seville,  Beaumarchais's  de- 
licious and  youthful  imbroglio.  On  the  chimney-piece 
is  a  bronze  by  Houdon,  the  bust  of  Preville  as  Mas- 


224  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

carille;  opposite  the  chimney-piece  are  busts  of  Samson 
and  Provost ;  between  the  windows  an  old  regtilateiir 
clock,  signed  by  "  Robin,  Horloger  du  Roy,"  marks  the 
hours  and  the  minutes,  surmounted  by  a  bust  of  Mo- 
Here.  Opposite  is  LargiUiere's  portrait  of  MoHere,  and 
from  the  chair  rail  to  the  ceiling  every  inch  of  wall  space 
is  covered  with  pictures  and  portraits  of  Clairon,  Talma, 
Rachel,  Vestris,  Poisson,  Preville,  and  all  the  great  act- 
ors and  actresses  of  the  last  two  centuries.  The  green- 
room, or  one  might  better  say  the  salon  of  the  artists, 
is  at  once  simple  and  magnificent  in  aspect.  There  is 
no  gilding  and  tinsel ;  the  oak  floor  is  waxed  and  with- 
out carpet;  the  furniture  is  in  the  Louis  XIV.  and 
Louis  XV.  styles — two  sofas,  stools,  arm-chairs  carved 
in  massive  oak  and  upholstered  in  green  Utrecht  vel- 
vet, simple  mirrors  running  up  to  the  ceiling,  three  or 
four  tables,  a  piano,  a  few  busts  on  marble  pedestals. 

Let  us  now  go  up-stairs  to  the  mysterious  region  of 
the  dressing-rooms,  each  of  which  betrays  more  or  less 
the  temperament  of  the  occupant.  The  dressing-room 
of  the  elder  Coquelin  is  hung  with  fine  old  tapestry,  the 
floor  is  strewn  with  Smyrna  carpets,  pictures  and  rare 
engravings  adorn  the  walls,  and  the  whole  aspect  is  that 
of  an  elegant  and  artistic  boudoir.  The  younger  Coque- 
lin, more  fantastic  and  gay  than  his  great  brother, 
amuses  himself  by  hanging  caricatures  of  himself  on 
the  walls  of  his  room;  on  the  chimney-piece  is  a  bronze 
bust  by  the  painter  Gerome  ;  on  one  wall  is  a  long  glass 
case  containing  a  collection  of  autograph  letters  ad- 
dressed to  the  comedian  by  contemporary  celebrities. 
Mounet-Sully  lives  in  the  midst  of  a  picturesque  con- 
fusion which  is  the  despair  of  the  sweeper,  Dennis. 
"  One  must  touch  nothing,  disturb  nothing.  Those  dusty 
yellow  papers  must  be  left  there  on  the  chimney-piece 
just  as  they  are.    Faut  pas  toucher^    And  on  the  walls, 


PUBLIC     FOYER,    WITH     STATUE     OF    VOLTAIRE 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  227 

in  lieu  of  pictures,  are  dusty  wreaths  of  paper  laurel  and 
oak  leaves,  radiant  with  faded  ribbons  and  inscriptions 
in  letters  of  gold,  that  record  by-gone  scenic  triumphs. 
The  portieres  are  old  silk  stuffs ;  the  furniture  consists 
of  Spanish  coffers  bristling  with  wrought-iron  clasps 
and  arabesques  ;  the  ornaments  are  antique  arms,  bows 
and  arrows,  Homeric  quivers,  y^schylean  javelins — a 
queer  mixture  of  players'  trappings  and  bric-a-brac.  The 
dressing-rooms  of  the  women  betray  equally  the  tastes 
and  nature  of  their  proprietors.  Mile.  Bartet  delights 
in  a  most  refined  and  tasteful  Louis  XV.  interior,  with 
dainty  furniture,  and  delicate  draperies  looped  up  and 
festooned  like  the  paniers  of  a  Pompadour  gown.  Mile. 
Lloyd  affects  the  more  severe  luxury  of  carved  ebony 
furniture  and  mirrored  wardrobes  that  reflect  her  opu- 
lent charms.  Mile.  Reichemberg  dresses  in  a  gay  and 
maidenly  chamber  hung  with  creamy  flowered  chintz. 
From  these  specimens  and  indications  the  reader  will 
have  rightly  concluded  that  the  dressing-rooms  of  the 
Comedie-Fran9aise  are  in  harmony  with  the  general 
splendor  and  comfort  of  the  establishment. 

We  will  now  go  down-stairs  and  visit  the  stage,  taking 
a  glance,  as  we  pass,  at  the  "  mtcsee,''  or  small  property- 
room  near  the  stasfe-door.  The  '' imcsee'"  looks  like  a 
marine  store  or  a  toy  bazaar.  There  are  all  kinds  of 
things  in  it :  flower-pots,  feather-dusters,  clocks,  statu- 
ettes in  carton-bronze,  antique  tragic  and  comic  masks 
which  serve  in  apotheoses  and  commemorative  perform- 
ances, a  mummy  case  in  card- board  (one  of  the  acces- 
sories of  Sardou's  Pattes  de  Mouc/ies),  a  stuffed  pheas- 
ant, hunting  and  fishing  utensils,  inkstands,  and  tout 
ce  quil  fatit pour  ecrire,  as  Scribe  says  in  his  comedies, 
and  a  thousand  other  objects  which  help  in  a  play 
to  complete  the  illusion.  Close  by  the  "  inusee "  the 
property-man  has  his  little  office,  opposite  which  is  the 


228  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

larder,  where  he  keeps  his  card-board  chickens,  Yiis, pates 
de  foie gras,  and  his  dishes  and  bottles.  Passing  through 
green-baize  folding  doors,  we  descend  half  a  dozen  steps, 
and  here  we  are  on  the  stage.  In  the  House  of  Moliere 
it  is  the  usage  for  visitors  to  take  their  hats  off  on  the 
stage,  whereas  on  the  stage  of  the  Opera  it  is  the  usage 
to  remain  covered.  The  general  aspect  of  the  stage  is 
much  the  same  as  that  of  any  ordinary  theatre ;  on  the 
boards  you  see  the  back  of  the  scenery,  with  the  num- 
bers and  various  indications  roughly  written ;  overhead 
you  see  a  maze  of  ropes  and  hanging  canvas  and  swing- 
ing lights.  But  there  the  resemblance  ceases.  The 
stage  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  is  almost  as  much  a  salon 
as  is  the  greenroom.  The  scene-shifters  do  not  shout 
to  each  other  or  do  their  work  noisily;  there  is  no  hurry- 
ing or  indecent  haste,  for  long  entractes  are  the  usage 
in  Paris,  where  almost  everybody  leaves  his  seat  be- 
tween the  acts,  and  goes  for  a  walk  and  a  talk  in  the 
public  foyer.  At  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  you  never 
hear  any  ringing  of  bells  in  the  lobbies  ;  even  the  cur- 
tain cannot  be  said  to  be  rung  up.  Continuing  an  an- 
tique usage  which  dates  from  the  time  of  Moliere,  and 
which  was  borrowed,  doubtless,  from  the  custom  of  the 
halberdiers  and  ushers,  who  struck  the  floor  with  their 
staffs  as  they  preceded  and  announced  the  King  or  any 
grand  dignitary,  the  regisseur  oi  the  Comedie-Frangaise 
announces  the  beginning  of  the  play,  and  gives  the  sig- 
nal for  the  curtain  to  rise,  by  striking  the  stage  with  a 
staff.  In  our  illustration  this  important  functionary  is 
seen,  in  hieratic  pose,  in  the  act  of  giving  the  three  tra- 
ditional knocks — frapper  les  trois  coups.  He  holds  in 
hjs  hand  a  thick  staff  painted  black,  the  top  of  which 
is  bound  round  with  green  velvet  studded  with  brass 
nails.  He  stands  at  one  side  of  the  stage,  and  strikes 
gravely  and  heavily,  pausing  about  a  second  between 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE 


231 


each  stroke;  then  he 
hurries  away,  and  the 
curtain  rises  majesti- 
cally and  discloses  the 
scene  and  the  actors. 
The  play  begins.  We 
who  are  behind  the 
scenes  can  scarcely 
hear  now  and  then  a 
word ;  the  applause 
reaches  our  ears  faint- 
ly, as  if  coming  from 
a  orreat  distance.  The 
piece  is  played  in  a 
salon.  It  is  Moliere's 
Femmes  savantes,  for 
instance.  The  scenes 
—  that  is  to  say,  the 
walls  of  the  salon  — 
are  planted  with  the 
aid  of  uprights,  orpor- 
tants,  which  slide  in 
the  grooves,  or  C021- 
lisses,  that  stripe  the 
floor  of  the  stage;  flex- 
ible  gas -pipes   issue 

from  trap-doors  under  our  feet,  curl  and  coil  along,  climb 
up  the  framework  of  the  scenery,  and  blossom  forth  in 
long  jets  of  flame.  Here  is  the  door  of  the  salon  seen 
from  behind;  an  actress  is  listening  for  her  cue  or  pass- 
word ;  two  scene-shifters  are  seated  somnolently,  one  on 
each  side,  ready  to  pull  the  cords  and  hold  the  spring- 
doors  open  while  the  actress  enters,  for  the  actors,  it 
may  be  remarked,  never  open  or  shut  a  door  themselves. 
One  of  these  scene-shifters  wears  wooden  sabots;  the 


STAGE-MANAGER    WITH    HIS    STAFF 


2^2 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


other  wears  slippers  and  trousers  tightened  round  the 
ankle,  so  that  he  can  glide  cat-like  and  unembarrassed 
among  the  cords  and  pulleys  overhead.  Here  and  there 
on  the  stage  are  macJiinistes,  or  scene -shifters,  wait- 
ing for  the  end  of  the  act.  A  toilet-table  is  placed 
against  the  back  of  a  scene,  and  two  actresses  are  put- 
tine  the  finishino-  touches  to  their  attire,  while  a  fireman 
watches  them  indiscreetly,  though  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance. Walking  on  tiptoe  along  the  strip  of  carpet  that 
is  laid  across  the  back  of  the  stage,  we  come  to  the 
guignol — an  institution  quite  pepuhar  to  the  Comedie 
Frangaise.  The  gMignol  is  a  box  about  ten  feet  square, 
one  side  of  which  is  open.  The  interior  is  painted 
white ;  the  floor  is  carpeted ;  the  sitting  accommodation 


DRESSING-ROOM    OF    MLLE.   LLOYD 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE 


23s 


consists  of  a  bench  and  a  few  chairs  covered  with  red 
velvet ;  in  the  corners  are  httle  shelves  of  white  marble, 
always  covered  with  powder-boxes;  at  the  back  is  a 
looking-glass,  with  a  lamp  on  each  side.  In  \S\vs,  guignol 
the  actors  and  actresses  wait  and   rest  between  their 


WAITING     FOR     HER    CUE 


exits  and  entries.  The  guignol  is  nowadays  the  true 
greenroom  of  the  Comedie-Fran9aise,  for  it  is  here  that 
the  real  habitues  of  the  house  come  to  gossip  and  pay 
homage  to  the  charming  servants  of  the  Muses.  Our 
illustration  gives  the  aspect  of  the  guigjiol,  with  some 
artistes   sitting  there  in  the  costumes   of  Les  Feimnes 


2  34     .  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

savantes.  Beyond  the  guignol,  through  the  door  over 
which  a  lamp  is  seen  burning,  is  the  loge  du  semainier^ 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  societaire  who  during  the  week 
undertakes  the  direction  of  the  stage,  superintends  the 
rehearsals,  and  does  the  honors  of  the  house  to  the 
princes  and  eminent  persons  who  may  happen  to  come 
to  the  theatre  while  he  is  on  service.  Each  societaire 
takes  his  turn  of  semainier.  The  loge,  or  office,  of  the 
semainiei^,  was  formerly  the  dressing-room  of  the  great 
Talma,  and  it  communicated  directly  with  the  "  Impe- 
rial," "  Royal,"  or  "  State  "  box.  Napoleon  I.  having  so 
arranged  it  in  order  to  be  able  at  his  ease  to  come  and 
chat  between  the  acts  with  his  favorite  actor.  The 
clock  is  the  only  relic  of  Talma  that  now  remains  there. 


IV 


We  will  now  examine  the  organization  of  the  Comedie- 
Fran9aise.  Its  first  charter  and  rules  were  signed,  as 
we  have  seen,  by  Louis  XIV.  During  the  gravest  events 
of  the  Russian  campaign,  Napoleon  I.  found  time  to  date 
from  Moscow  a  decree  which  once  more  fixed  the  re- 
spective rights  of  the  comedians  and  of  the  State.  Fi- 
nally this  decree  was  modified  in  1850  and  1859,  and 
since  then  other  slight  changes  have  been  introduced 
into  the  administration.  The  result  of  all  these  decrees 
and  modifications  is  a  constitution  as  difficult  to  define 
as  the  Constitution  of  England.  One  may  say  sum- 
marily that  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  is  a  company  or 
socidtd  civile  subsidized  and  administered  by  the  State. 
This  curious  organization,  hybrid  as  it  is,  has  certainly 
exercised  an  excellent  influence  on  the  actors'  profes- 
sion.   By  giving  them  in  a  way  the  character  of  function- 


ACTORS     BEHIND     THE     SCENES    (IN    THE     GUIGNOL) 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  237 

aries  it  brought  them  within  the  social  order,  and  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  destroy  the  absurd  prejudices  of 
which  they  were  formerly  victims.  The  greenroom  of 
the  Theatre  Frangais  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  sa- 
lons of  Paris  as  long  as  there  were  any  salons,  and  now 
that  there  are  no  longer  any  salons,  it  is  still,  as  Emile 
Augier  said,  ""2111  des  plus  agreables  par  loirs  de  la  capi- 
takr  From  the  stairway  to  the  corridor,  from  the 
vestibule  to  the  scene-loft,  the  Comedie-Frangaise  has 
preserved  a  certain  grand  air  that  one  does  not  find 
elsewhere.  The  comedian  cannot  achieve  a  higher  dis- 
tinction than  that  of  belonging  to  it ;  theatrical  art  has 
no  more  glorious  temple.  Remark,  too,  that  with  rare 
exceptions,  like  Rachel,  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  is  sus- 
tained less  by  the  prestige  of  a  few  stars  than  by  the 
distinction  and  excellence  of  the  whole  company.  No- 
where do  we  find  a  more  perfect  general  execution.  The 
socielariat,  the  key-stone  of  the  Comedie,  so  favorable  to 
the  dignity  and  the  interests  of  the  artists,  finds  its  jus- 
tification from  the  point  of  view  of  art  in  the  fact  that 
it  has  preserved  intact,  amid  all  the  literary,  social,  and 
political  crises  of  France,  a  classical  company  and  a 
classical  repertory. 

At  the  head  of  the  Comedie-Frangaise  we  find  an  ad- 
ministrator-general appointed  by  the  State,  with  a  salary 
of  30,000  francs  a  year,  plus  6000  francs  for  expenses. 
It  is  the  office  of  this  functionary,  who  is  usuall}^  chosen 
from  among  the  distinguished  literary  men  of  the  day, 
to  represent  the  State  towards  the  comedians,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  represent  the  comedians  towards  the  State, 
and  his  duties  demand  the  exercise  of  great  tact  and  of 
all  the  other  qualities  of  the  perfect  diplomatist.  The 
societe  civile^  or  copartnership  of  the  Comedie,  comprises 
twenty-four  members,  or  societaires.  All  the  business 
and  interests  of  the  company  are  managed  by  an  ad- 


238  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

ministrative  committee  of  six  members  and  two  deputy- 
members,  chosen  among  the  societaires  by  the  adminis- 
trator, who  is  president  of  the  committee,  and  whose 
choice  requires  the  ratification  of  the  Minister  of  Fine 
Arts.  This  administrative  committee  nominates  new 
societaires,  who  are  chosen,  with  rare  exceptions,  from 
among  the  pensioiinaires — that  is  to  say,  the  artists  who 
are  engaged  by  the  year  at  fixed  salaries,  and  without 
participation  in  the  profits  of  the  company.  According 
to  the  Moscow  decree  a  societaire  is  elected  for  a  period 
of  twenty  years,  but  a  modification  has  since  been  in- 
troduced, in  virtue  of  which,  at  the  end  of  ten  years' 
service,  the  committee  may  dismiss  the  societaire,  who, 
however,  has  not  on  his  side  the  right  to  retire  if  the 
committee  wish  him  to  remain.  At  the  end  of  twenty 
years'  service  the  societaire  has  a  right  to  a  pension  of 
5000  francs  a  year,  and  for  each  supplementary  year  of 
service  his  pension  is  augmented  by  200  francs.  The 
Moscow  decree  fixed  the  number  of  societaires  shares  at 
twenty-four,  each  being  worth  12,000  francs,  and  divis- 
ible into  twelve  twelfths  of  1000  francs  each.  Three 
or  four  of  these  shares  are  reserved  for  various  uses, 
and  the  remaining  shares  are  distributed  unequally 
among  the  twenty-four  societaires.  At  the  end  of  the 
year  the  profits  of  the  period  are  divided  among  the  so- 
cietai^'es  proportionately  to  their  rights  of  participation ; 
but  only  half  their  share  of  the  profits  is  paid  to  them 
in  cash,  while  the  other  half  is  deposited  at  the  Mont 
de  Piete,  where  it  accumulates  to  form  the  ''fonds  so- 
ciaf'  which  the  societaire  receives  when  he  retires.  The 
interest  of  these  ''fo7ids  sociaux'"  is  reserved  by  the 
Comedie-Fran9aise,  and  used  to  pay  the  pensions  of  the 
retired  members.  At  present  these  ''fonds  sociaux  "  de- 
posited at  the  Mont  de  Piete  amount  to  more  than  two 
millions  of   francs.     A  societaire  when  first  appointed 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANCAISE  239 

very  rarely  receives  at  once  a  whole  share,  and  never 
less  than  three  and  a  half  twelfths. 


V 


All  the  actors  and  actresses  of  the  Comedie  -  Fran- 
9aise  are  attached  to  the  establishment  in  virtue  of  a 
decree  signed  by  the  Minister  of  Fine  Arts,  in  which  is 
specified  the  nature  of  the  roles  they  are  to  play — their 
emploi,  as  it  is  called.  The  roles  are  still  denominated 
by  curious  special  terms.  The  old  men  are  divided  into 
three  classes,  peres  nobles,  grimes,  and  ganaches ;  old 
women  are  called  diiegnes  and  uteres ;  young  men  are 
C2i\\e.6. J etcnes premiers, premiers  amoureux,  seconds  amoiir- 
eux,  and  grands  J eunes  premiers ;  young  women  are 
called  jeimes  nieres,  grandes  jetmes  pi^emieres,  amottr- 
eiises,grandes  coquettes,  inghii^es,  inghtues  comiqttes ;  then 
come  valets,  sottbrettes,  roles  marqtces,  roles  a  caractere, 
and  grands  roles,  such  as  Alceste  and  Tartuffe ;  and 
finally  the  list  ends  with  utilites,  the  servants  who  bring 
in  letters  and  the  walking  gentlemen.  The  public  does 
not  pay  much  attention  to  these  latter  actors,  but  they 
nevertheless  contribute  to  the  o-eneral  excellence  of  a 
company.  It  is  one  of  the  superiorities  of  the  Come- 
die -  Fran9aise  to  have  these  minor  and  often  mute 
roles  played  by  actors  familiar  with  the  traditions  of  the 
house,  and  not  by  "supers"  recruited  from  all  quarters. 
Another  point  to  be  noticed  as  contributing  to  the 
dignity  of  the  Comedie-Franyaise  :  it  is  the  only  theatre 
in  Paris  where  the  administration  pays  for  the  modern 
toilet  worn  by  the  modern  actress.  In  all  the  other 
theatres  the  ladies  find  their  own  modern  dresses. 


240 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


VI 


We  will  now  give  a  resume  of  the  personnel  and  ex- 
penses of  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  as  they  appear  in  the 
accounts  of  1885,  which  may  be  considered  an  average 
year. 

The  administration  comprises  a  general  administra- 
tor, a  general  financial  contrbleur,  a  cashier,  2  readers,  a 
secretary-accountant,  and  an  archivist  secretary.  The 
salaries  of  these  7  functionaries  amount  to  70,000  francs 
a  year. 

The  company  consists  of  24  societaires  and  ^iZ  P^^^- 
sionnaires,  whose  fixed  salaries  amount  respectively  to 
261,000  francs  and  185,400  francs  a  year. 

The  theatre,  besides  the  actors  and  actresses,  has  12 
heads  of  departments,  or  chefs  de  service^  and  employes : 
a  secretaire-regisseiir ;  2  prompters;  2  call-men;  a  chef 
de  la  figuration ;  a  head  property-man;  a  head  musi- 
cian and  4  employes.  The  salaries  in  this  department 
amount  to  .30,000  francs  a  year. 

The  Magasin  has  a  personnel  composed  of  34  per- 
sons :  stage-carpenters,  costumers,  dress-makers,  tailors, 
upholsterers,  dressers,  etc.,  whose  salaries  amount  to 
41,400  francs  a  year. 

The  auditorium,  or  la  salle,  as  it  is  called,  in  contra- 
distinction to  Ic  theatre,  which  means  all  that  is  behind 
the  curtain,  is  managed  b}^  71  persons,  whose  salaries 
make  a  total  of  34,100  francs  a  year.  Next  we  find  17 
scene-shifters,  whose  salaries  amount  to  40,000  francs, 
and  10  comparses  or  coryphees,  male  and  female,  who  are 
paid  10,400  francs  a  year.  The  figuration — that  is  to 
say,  the  "  supers  " — varies  in  number  according  to  'the 


THE     CABINET    OF     THE    ADMINISTRATOR-GENERAL 


requirements  of  the  programme.  The  employes  in- 
cluded in  this  summary  are  only  such  as  are  regularly 
attached  to  the  theatre. 

Finally  we  have  the  non-active  personnel,  the  invalids 
and  pensioners,  namely:    13  societaires,  male  and  female, 


242 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


whose  pensions  amount  to  76,416  francs  a  year;  ^ pen- 
sionnairesy  male  and  female,  15,800  francs;  i  ex-general 
administrator,  4000  francs;  7  employes,  11,925  francs; 
25  widows  and  daughters  of  artists  and  former  em- 
ployes, 17,960  francs.  In  all,  51  pensioners,  receiving 
annually  126,101  francs. 

The  total  of  the  active  personnel  is  208  persons,  re- 
ceiving in  all  salaries  to  the  amount  of  798,701  francs. 
The  reader  will  reinark  that  these  figures  are  exclusive 
of  the  division  of  the  profits,  according  to  the  system 
above  explained. 

In  1885  the  total  receipts  of  the  Comedie  were  2,331,- 
814  francs,  the  expenses  1,805,000  francs,  and  the  share 
ox  part  de  societair^  was  worth  28,000  francs.  The  re- 
ceipts consisted  of  1,850,000  francs  taken  at  the  door, 
and  the  residue  of  interest,  rentes^  and  other  funds,  in- 
cluding the  Government  subvention  of  240,000  francs 
a  year. 

A  detail  of  the  expenses  omitted  in  the  above  resume 
is  \}i\^  feux.  Each  artist  receives  10  ix2iV\Q.?i  feux  every 
night  that  he  or  she  plays,  and  1 5  francs  for  playing  in 
two  pieces  in  the  same  evening.  This  item  of  feux 
amounts  to  25,000  francs  a  year.  No  mention,  either,  is 
made  of  the  claque,  or  hired  applauders.  The  reason 
is  that  the  claque  was  suppressed  in  1878.  At  present 
the  Comedie-Fran9aise  pays  a  man  300  francs  a  month 
permanently,  and  whenever  a  piece  needs  to  be  sus- 
tained this  man  receives  ten  places,  five  in  the  pit  and 
five  in  the  gallery,  and  it  is  his  business  to  improvise 
a  very  discreet  claque.  This  excellent  innovation  is 
due  to  the  late  director,  M.  Perrin.  It  was  M.  Perrin 
also  who  introduced  the  fashion  of  subscription  nights. 
During:  the  six  months  of  the  Paris  season  the  fashion- 
able  people  have  their  boxes  and  their  stalls  reserved 
by  subscription  at  the  Comedie  on  Tuesdays  and  Thurs- 


STATUE    OF     MOLIERE     IN    THE    VESTIBULE 

days,  just  as  they  do  on  the  subscription  nights  at  the 
Opera  and  Opera  Comique.  The  subscribers,  or  abon- 
nes,  of  the  Comedie  have  the  privilege  of  going  behind 
the  scenes  and  into  the  greenroom. 

Yet  other  details  in  the  expenses  of  the  theatre  are 
the  authors'  fees  and  the  tax  paid  to  the  hospitals,  or 


244  ^^^    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

dj^oi^  des  paiwres,  respectively  15  and  10  per  cent  of  the 
gross  nightly  receipts.  The  15  per  cent,  of  the  authors 
is  distributed  proportionately  to  the  acts.  For  example, 
if  a  play  by  M.  Dumas — Le  Demi-Monde,  iox  instance — 
is  performed  alone,  M.  Dumas  receives  15  per  cent,  on 
the  gross  receipts.  If  the  programme  is  composed  of  a 
piece  in  one  act,  a  piece  in  three  acts,  and  a  piece  in 
four  acts,  the  authors  receive  3,  5,  and  7  per  cent,  re- 
spectively, and  so  forth  proportionately,  the  total  of  15 
per  cent,  being  divided  according  to  the  various  com- 
binations which  may  occur  in  a  programme,  the  mini- 
mum for  one  act  being  3  per  cent,  of  the  gross  receipts. 


VII 


Our  visit  to  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  is  not  finished 
yet.  Away  up  at  the  top,  in  a  gallery  running  along 
the  Rue  Montpensier,  are  stored  the  archives  and  the 
library,  of  which  we  must  say  a  few  words.  The  regu- 
lar foundation  of  these  two  departments  only  dates  from 
1855,  when  M.  Leon  Guillard  first  put  the  papers  of  the 
house  in  order  and  began  to  form  the  library,  which  has 
prospered  brilliantly  since  then  under  the  care  of  M. 
Guillard's  successors,  the  poet  Fran9ois  Copee  and  the 
present  archivist,  M.  Monval.  In  the  library  we  find, 
besides  a  very  rich  collection  of  books  relating  to  the 
theatre  and  to  dramatic  art,  the  precious  Reg-is  Ire  de  La- 
grange, which  gives — day  by  day,  so  to  speak — the  diary 
of  Moliere's  dramatic  life.  Then  we  have  the  journals 
of  La  Thorilliere  and  of  Moliere's  company  before  1680, 
and  then  begins  the  series  of  the  registers  and  account- 
books  of  the  Comedie,  which  have  been  kept  day  by 
day,  with  one  single  interruption  and  one  gap — in  1 793, 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE 


245 


when  the  comedians 
were  dispersed,  and 
the  year  1740,  the 
register  of  which 
has  been  lost — down 
to  the  present  day. 
These  venerable  reg- 
isters are  stout  fo- 
lios, bound  in  green 
vellum  or  brown 
sheepskin,  with  fine 
printed  title-pages, 
and  blank  schedules 
filled  up  in  manu- 
script. The  early 
registers  bear  on  the 
title-page  the  men- 
tion :  Registre  pour 
les  sen  Is  comediens  du 
Roy.  Each  day  the 
receipts,  expenses, 
and  profits  are  noted, 
and  brief  mention  is 
made  of  notable 
events  in  the  life  of 
the  theatre.  On  an- 
other shelf  in  the  library  are  more  stout  folios,  labelled, 
Ordres  des  Gentilshommes  de  la  Chambre.  These  or- 
ders, together  with  the  three  hundred  thousand  letters 
and  other  documents  preserved  in  the  archives  of  the 
Comedie,  initiate  us  fully  into  the  private  life  of  the 
theatre.  Early  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  the  gentle- 
men of  the  chamber  of  the  King  were  charged  with  the 
supreme  direction  of  the  comedians,  whom  they  had  a 

right  to  imprison  if  they  thought  proper.     In  the  seven- 
16* 


COQUELIN     CADET     IN    " LE     SPHINX' 


246  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

teenth  century  their  interference  in  the  affairs  of  the 
theatre  was  dignified  and  rare,  but  under  Louis  XV. 
their  reign  began  to  be  despotic  and  irritating,  and 
lovers  of  queer  details  and  scandal  will  find  much  amus- 
ing reading  in  these  volumes  of  their  orders.  The 
power  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the  King's  Chamber  and  of 
the  Intendants  des  Menus  Plazsij^s  du  Roy  lasted  until 
the  Revolution,  During  the  first  Empire  and  the  Res- 
toration the  Comedie  was  administered  by  an  imperial 
or  a  royal  commissioner;  and  finally,  in  1834,  the  Gov- 
ernment began  to  be  represented  by  a  director  or  gen- 
eral administrator,  a  post  which  has  since  been  succes- 
sively filled  by  MM.  Jouslin  de  la  Salle,  Vedel,  Buloz, 
Lockroy,  Seveste,  Arsene  Houssaye,  Empis,  Edouard 
Thierry,  Emile  Perrin,  and  Jules  Claretie.* 


VIII 


The  subvention  of  240,000  francs  a  year  paid  by  the 
State  to  the  Comedie-Francaise  is  destined  to  make  up 
for  any  loss  that  the  theatre  might  incur  in  playing  the 
pieces  of  the  old  repertory,  and  in  giving  three  or  four 
free  performances  a  year,  by  order  of  the  Government, 
on  the  occasion  of  certain  fetes.  Evidently  a  comedy 
by  Moliere  or  a  tragedy  by  Corneille,  unless  there  be  a 
Rachel  or  some  exceptional  artist  to  play  the  great  roles, 

*  Under  the  administration  of  M.  Arsene  Houssaye  the  receipts 
of  a  normal  year  exceeded  634,000  francs  ;  under  M.  Empis  they 
attained  800,000  francs  ;  under  M.  Thierry  in  1869  they  reached 
995,000  francs  ;  and  under  M.  Perrin  in  1872  the  milHon  was  reached 
and  passed,  the  total  being  1,360,000  francs.  The  prosperity  of  the 
Comedie-Francaise  has  thus  gone  on  gradually  increasing  since  the 
beginning  of  the  century. 


MOUNET-SULLY   AS   HAMLET 


THE   COMEDIE-FRANCAISE  249 

exercises  a  smaller  attraction  over  the  public  than  a  new 
comedy  by  Dumas  or  Pailleron,  and  the  receipts  show 
a  proportionate  difference.  But  it  is  only  on  condition 
of  immortalizing  on  the  stage  the  masterpieces  of  Cor- 
neille,  Racine,  Moliere,  Regnard,  Marivaux,  and  Beau- 
marchais  that  the  Comedie  -  Fran9aise  enjoys  all  its 
privileges.  However,  nowadays  the  theatre  is  becoming 
more  and  more  the  victim  of  its  too  great  riches  ;  the 
old  repertory  and  the  new  are  equally  extensive  and  al- 
most equally  popular,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  public 
is  so  great  that  it  is  impossible  to  satisfy  it.  Formerly, 
before  railways  brought  crowds  of  foreigners  and  pro- 
vincials to  the  capital,  thirty  performances  exhausted 
the  success  of  a  piece,  whereas  now  the  receipts  do  not 
begin  to  decline  until  after  two  or  three  hundred  repre- 
sentations. Hence  the  variety  of  the  programme  at 
the  Fran9ais  is  not  so  great  as  it  used  to  be  ;  the  modern 
repertory  tends  to  crowd  out  the  ancient  repertory,  and 
nevertheless  the  modern  authors  complain  that  they 
have  to  wait  for  years  and  years  to  see  their  pieces 
played.  In  vain  the  actors  of  the  Comedie  play  every 
night  in  the  week,  including  Sunday ;  in  vain  they 
give  matinees  and  keep  their  theatre  open  all  the  year 
round;  they  cannot  fully  utilize  their  repertory,  which 
is  amply  suiBcient  to  supply  two  theatres.  The  best 
solution  of  the  difficulty  would  be  to  double  the  Co- 
medie-Franyaise,  and  thus  have  a  classical  theatre  and 
a  modern  theatre. 


250  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


IX 


How  does  the  Comedie-Fran9aise  recruit  its  reper- 
tory? What  is  the  history  of  a  new  play  from  the  time 
the  author  has  written  it  to  the  time  when  it  is  produced 
before  the  pubHc  ?  Every  play  offered  to  the  Comedie- 
Fran9aise  is  examined  by  the  two  readers,  who  draw  up 
a  summary  report,  which  is  submitted  to  the  reading 
committee,  and  preserved  afterwards  in  the  archives. 
This  reading  committee,  or  comite  de  lecture,  is  composed 
of  twelve  societaires  nominated  by  the  Minister  of  Fine 
Arts  on  the  recommendation  of  the  general  administra- 
tor, who  is  president  of  this  committee,  just  as  he  is 
president  of  the  administrative  committee.  If  the  ex- 
amination of  the  two  readers  is  favorable,  the  author  is 
invited  to  read  his  manuscript  before  the  assembled 
committee.  An  author  who  has  already  had  a  piece 
played  has  the  right  of  reading  his  play  to  the  com- 
mittee at  once  at  his  own  request,  and  without  previous 
examination  by  the  two  readers.  The  reading  takes 
place  in  the  committee-room,  the  societaires  being  seat- 
ed around  the  table,  covered  with  the  traditional  green 
cloth.  Generally  the  author  reads  his  manuscript  him- 
self, which  is  a  real  treat  for  the  committee  when  the 
author  is  named  Dumas  or  Sardou,  for  each  of  these 
celebrated  men  not  only  reads  his  manuscript,  but  acts 
it  as  he  reads.  The  reading  finished,  the  author  with- 
draws, and  the  committee  proceeds  to  vote  with  white, 
black,  and  red  balls  —  the  white  signifying  "accepted," 
the  black  "  refused,"  and  the  red  repc  a  correction  — 
often  a  polite  form  of  refusal,  for  the  author  cannot 
always  discover  what  the  committee  wished  him  to 
correct  in  his  manuscript. 


COQUELIN    AINE    IN    "  LES    RANTZAU' 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANCAISE  253 

The  piece  having  been  accepted,  the  committee  dis- 
tributes the  roles,  and  the  rehearsals  begin  in  due  course. 
"  You  should  see  them  rehearse,"  said  M.  Dumas,  one 
day,  speaking  of  Delaunay  and  Cocjuelin.  "  They  do 
not  content  themselves  with  seeking  on  their  own  ac- 
count; the  novice,  their  comrade,  wh^ih^r pensio7iiiaire 
or  debutant,  who  acts  with  them,  is  the  object  of  their 
attention  and  their  zeal.  They  help  him  with  advice, 
with  their  experience,  and  also  with  all  the  peculiar  gifts 
which  have  given  them  the  position  they  hold  on  the 
first  stage  in  the  world."  The  rehearsals  begin  in  the 
public  foyer,  at  one  end  of  which  are  placed  screens 
and  simple  scenery,  forming  a  framework  in  which  the 
piece  may  be  developed.  Work  begins  about  one  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  during  some  twenty  rehearsals  the 
author,  the  administrator-general,  the  stage -manager, 
the  actors,  and  the  actresses  toil  at  the  mysterious  proc- 
ess of  materializing  the  manuscript,  of  giving  it  soul 
and  body  in  the  attitudes,  gestures,  intonations,  and  ex- 
pression of  the  artists,  of  communicating  to  the  written 
words  the  shades,  the  accent,  the  vibration  of  life.  After 
these  twenty  preliminary  rehearsals  the  play  is  thor- 
oughly on  its  feet ;  meanwhile  the  scenery  has  been  pre- 
pared, the  frame  elaborated,  the  living  picture  is  trans- 
ferred to  the  stage,  and  the  repetitions  sur  la  scene  begin. 
The  spectacle  is  curious.  The  auditorium  is  enveloped 
in  white  holland  coverings,  and  plunged  in  obscurity, 
relieved  only  by  square  patches  of  light  that  stream  in 
through  the  little  windows  of  the  boxes,  or  through 
some  gallery  door  accidentally  left  open,  and  through 
which  darts  a  ray  of  afternoon  sun  laden  with  dancing 
particles  of  dust ;  the  lustre  sparkles  with  the  reflection 
of  these  rare  specks  of  light  like  a  mass  of  stalactites 
hanging  from  the  vault  of  some  dark  cavern.  The  stage 
alone  is  lighted  by  the  fifty  oil-lamps -that  form  the  tra- 


254  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

ditional  footlights  of  the  Comedie,  and  by  the  gas-jets 
that  illuminate  the  scenery.  Overhead,  through  the 
cords  and  scaffolding,  penetrate  patches  of  bluish  light, 
and  on  the  stage  men  and  women  in  ordinary  costume 
are  acting.  In  the  middle  of  the  stage,  above  the  prompt- 
er's box,  sits  the  author  in  his  guignol — a  sort  of  sentry- 
box  designed  to  shelter  him  from  draughts.  In  the 
winter  the  stage  is  dotted  with  these  sentry-boxes,  each 
provided  with  a  foot-warmer,  and  the  artists  sit  in  them 
and  rehearse  their  roles  at  their  ease.  On  the  left  of 
the  stage  sits  the  prompter  at  a  little  table,  and  near 
him  the  stage-manager.  The  administrator  watches  over 
the  whole,  either  from  a  chair  on  the  stage,  or  more 
usually  from  the  avant-scene — a  box  close  to  the  stage. 

Thus,  day  by  day  the  comedians,  aided  and  directed 
by  the  author  and  all  the  experienced  officers  of  the 
company,  continue  the  slow  and  laborious  process  of 
creating  a  play.  Five  or  six  rehearsals  on  the  stage 
suffice,  and  next  comes  the  final  dress  rehearsal,  or  re- 
petition generale,  to  which  the  dramatic  critics,  the 
friends  of  the  author,  and  a  privileged  and  special  pub- 
lic are  invited.  Then  follows  the  great  and  solemn  day 
of  the  first  performance,  la  premiere.  All  the  seats  have 
been  given  away,  sold,  or  bartered ;  all  Paris  is  there, 
the  President  of  the  Republic,  the  President  of  the 
Chamber,  the  social,  political,  and  literary  celebrities  of 
the  capital;  the  orchestra  stalls  are  full  of  journalists 
and  writers ;  the  directors  of  the  great  Parisian  news- 
papers are  enthroned  in  the  best  boxes  w^ith  their  wives 
and  friends ;  almost  every  man  and  woman  in  the  house 
bears  a  name  well  known  in  art,  letters,  fashion,  or 
finance ;  everybody  is  looking  at  everybody ;  opera- 
glasses  scrutinize  the  depths  of  baignoires  and  loges, 
there  is  a  hum  of  busy  tongues,  an  exchange  of  greet- 
ings, a  feverish  expectation  that  brings  the  color  to  every 


THE    COMEDIE-FRANgAISE  255 

cheek.  At  last  the  traditional  three  knocks  are  heard; 
the  buzzing  of  conversation  ceases,  or  rather  it  seems 
to  glide  down  from  the  top  gallery  and  sink  into  the  pit, 
like  the  sails  of  a  ship  falling  down  the  masts  as  she 
enters  port.  Then  the  huge  red  simile-drapery  of  the 
curtain  rises,  and  the  first  word  of  the  new^  piece  is  sent 
vibrating  into  space.  The  idea  of  the  play  begins  to 
take  form  like  a  colored  arabesque  on  a  dark  back- 
ground, and  becomes  gradually  plaster,  bronze,  mar- 
ble, or  gold,  according  to  the  will  of  those  four  or  five 
hundred  experienced  spectators,  who  form  the  Tout- 
Paris  of  the  Parisian  stage,  who  are  always  to  be  seen 
at  first  nights  at  the  theatres,  and  whom  it  is  useless  to 
name  specially  and  individually,  for,  as  M.  Alexandre 
Dumas  has  said  of  this  Tout-Paris,  we  all  think  we  are 
in  it  and  of  it — nous  croyons  tous  en  etre. 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE 


THE  Institute,  to  quote  the  words  of  M.  Ernest 
Renan,  "is  one  of  the  most  glorious  creations  of 
the  Revolution,  a  thing  peculiar  to  France.  Many  coun- 
tries have  academies  which  can  vie  with  ours  in  the  il- 
lustriousness  of  their  members  and  in  the  importance 
of  their  works ;  France  alone  has  an  Institute,  where 
all  the  efforts  of  the  human  mind  are,  as  it  were,  bound 
into  one  whole ;  where  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  the 
historian,  the  philologist,  the  critic,  the  mathematician, 
the  physicist,  the  astronomer,  the  naturalist,  the  econo- 
mist, the  jurisconsult,  the  sculptor,  the  painter,  the  mu- 
sician, can  call  each  other  colleagues.  Two  ideas  act- 
uated the  great  and  single-minded  men  who  conceived 
the  plan  of  this  novel  foundation  :  the  one  idea,  admi- 
rably true,  is  that  all  the  productions  of  the  human  mind 
are  jointly  and  severally  dependent  upon  one  another; 
the  second  idea,  more  open  to  criticism,  but  still  grand 
and,  in  any  case,  thoroughly  and  profoundly  French,  is 
that  science,  letters,  and  art  are  a  State  institution,  a 
something  which  each  nation  produces  in  a  body,  and 
which  the  father-land  is  charged  with  fostering,  encour- 
aging, and  rewarding.  The  object  of  the  Institute  is 
the  progress  of  knowledge,  the  general  utility  and  glory 
of  the  Republic," 

This  is  the  ideal.     The  reality  is  less  wonderful ;  and. 


26o  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

as  usual,  the  French  themselves  are  the  first  to  criticise 
and  the  most  eager  to  depreciate  an  institution  which 
is,  after  all,  one  of  the  glories  of  their  country.  "  Be- 
tween ourselves,"  said  Sainte-Beuve,  in  a  private  letter, 
"  all  these  Academies  are  mere  child's  play;  at  least  the 
French  Academy  is.  The  shortest  quarter  of  an  hour 
of  solitary  thought,  or  of  serious  talk,  tete-a-tete,  in  our 
youth,  was  better  employed ;  but  as  one  grows  old  one 
becomes  more  susceptible  to  these  trifles,  only  it  is  well 
to  know  that  they  are  trifles." 

These  two  extreme  expressions  of  opinion  will  serve 
to  prepare  our  minds  for  the  best  and  for  the  worst, 
and  help  us  to  approach  our  subject  in  an  attitude  of 
adequate  impartiality. 

Without  going  deeply  into  the  history  of  the  matter, 
we  may  say  that  the  idea  of  organizing  a  sort  of  intel- 
lectual mandarinate  in  France  was  first  conceived  by 
Colbert,  as  a  part  of  the  vast  scheme  of  centralization 
which  Louis  XIV.  realized  during  his  long  reign.  The 
idea  of  the  "  Roi  Soleil,"  and  of  his  great  minister,  was 
to  organize  literature  and  the  arts,  and  to  associate  them 
with  grand  institutions  whose  function  was  to  carry 
everything  to  its  highest  degree  of  perfection.  Thus 
were  founded  the  Comedie-Fran9aise,  the  Opera,  the 
French  Academy,  and  the  other  Academies  of  the  old 
regime — namely,  the  Academies  of  Sciences,  of  Inscrip- 
tions and  Medals,  of  Painting  and  Sculpture,  and  of 
Architecture.  This  scheme  was  revived  by  the  Direct- 
ory, and  the  Institute  was  founded  on  lines  which  have 
since  been  greatly  modified,  but  of  which  the  leading 
idea  was  the  centralization  of  all  branches  of  knowledge. 
The  present  organization  of  the  Institute,  which  is  in 
the  main  that  given  to  it  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration, 
consists  of  five  Academies  taking  rank  according  to 
the  order  of  their  historical   foundation — namely,  the 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  26 1 

Academic- Frangaise  founded  by  Richelieu  in  1635;  the 
Academic  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-lettres,  founded 
by  Colbert  in  1663;  the  Academic  des  Sciences,  found- 
ed by  Colbert  in  1666;  the  Academic  des  Beaux-Arts, 
founded  between  1648  and  1671  by  the  amalgamation 
of  the  three  Academies  of  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Ar- 
chitecture ;  and  the  Academic  des  Sciences  Morales  et 
Politiques,  reconstituted  in  1832.  It  is  to  be  remarked, 
however,  that  the  filiation  of  these  Academies  is  pure- 
ly fictitious.  At  the  time  of  the  Revolution  all  the 
Academies  were  suppressed  and  ceased  to  exist ;  the 
chain  remained  broken  for  a  period  of  years  ;  and  the 
present  Institute  is  as  purely  a  growth  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  Empire,  and  the  Restoration  as  the  old  Acade- 
mies were  the  growth  of  the  monarchical  regime  which 
pensioned  Corneille  and  refused  Christian  burial  to  the 
bones  of  Moliere. 

Of  the  five  classes  or  Academies  which  form  the  In- 
stitute two  are  particularly  famous — namely,  the  Acade- 
mic Fran9aise,  and  the  Academic  des  Sciences.  Of 
these  we  shall  speak  at  some  length,  but  first  of  all  let 
us  devote  a  few  lines  to  the  three  others.  The  Acade- 
mic des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-lettres  is  composed  of 
40  members,  10  unattached  members,  10  foreign  as- 
sociates, and  50  corresponding  members.  It  derives 
its  title,  not  from  the  study  of  inscriptions,  but  from  the 
fact  that  the  origin  of  this  Academy  was  a  commission 
formed  in  the  Academic  Fran9aise,  and  charged  with 
composing  inscriptions  for  the  commemorative  medals 
struck  by  Louis  XIV.;  hence  its  old  name  was  Acade- 
mic des  Inscriptions  et  Medailles.  The  domain  of  this 
Academy  is  the  learned  languages,  antiquities,  monu- 
ments. Oriental  literature,  history  both  diplomatic  and 
literary;  and  its  chief  object  is  to  continue  the  execu- 
tion of  the  vast  scheme  of  erudition  and  research  bcQ-un 


262  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

by  the  Benedictines  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries.  It  is  an  Academy  about  which  the  general 
pubHc  hears  very  Httle,  but  which  nevertheless  does 
great  and  durable  work  by  its  publications  concerning 
the  history  of  France,  and  by  preparing  documentary 
monuments  like  the  Corpus  Inscriptiomtni  semiticartim, 
of  which  the  guiding  spirits  are  MM.  Renan  and 
Oppert. 

The  Academic  des  Beaux -Arts  is  composed  of  40 
members,  divided  into  five  sections:  14  painters,  8  sculp- 
tors, 8  architects,  4  engravers,  and  6  musicians.  Be- 
sides the  titulary  members,  there  are  10  unattached 
members,  10  foreign  associates,  and  50  corresponding 
members. 

"  Do  you  often  attend  the  sittings  of  the  Academie 
des  Beaux-Arts  T  I  asked  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  its  members.  "  What  takes  place  at  the  meetings  '^ 
What  is  the  use  of  the  Academy .?" 

"  I  attend,  perhaps,  once  or  twice  a  year,"  was  his  re- 
ply. "  The  sittings  offer  no  interest  whatever,  and  that 
is  why  I  never  go.  The  Academy  is  supposed  to  work 
at  a  Dictionary  of  the  Fine  Arts,  but  this  is  more  or 
less  a  myth.  The  Academy,  as  you  know,  controls  and 
awards  the  Prix  de  Rome  and  a  few  other  prizes." 

"  But  as  an  Academy,"  I  resumed,  interrogatively, 
"  one  may  say  that  it  has  only  an  honorific  existence  T 

"  Certainly.  At  least,  so  it  seems  to  me,  though  I 
have  no  doubt  all  my  colleagues  would  not  agree  with 
me.  Some  of  them  attend  the  meetings  regularly  and 
read  papers.  Some  of  the  men  who  have  leisure  like 
to  go  there  to  gossip." 

The  Academy  of  Moral  and  Political  Sciences  num- 
bers 40  members,  who  are  divided  into  five  sections, 
which  deal  with  the  subjects  headed,  respectively.  Phi- 
losophy, Morals,  Jurisprudence,  Political  Economy  and 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE 


263 


Statistics,  and  general  and  philosophical  History.  This 
Academy  has  6  unattached  members,  6  foreign  asso- 
ciates, and  48  corresponding  members. 

When  the  Institute  was  founded  the  Academy  of 
Physical  and  Mathematical  Sciences  was  called  the 
First  Class,  and  comprised  60  members,  while  the  class 
of  Moral  and  Political  Sciences  comprised  36,  and  the 
class  of  Literature  and  Fine  Arts  48  members.     Thus 


■ <^um    •' 


A    LEARNED     MEMBER     OF    THE     ACADEMY     OF     SCIENCES 


the  scientific  men  were  assured  a  certain  preponderance 
over  the  others  in  the  general  deliberations  of  the  In- 
stitute— a  fact  which  testifies  strongly  to  the  rationalist 
ideas  of  the  authors  of  the  renovation  of  French  society. 
This  Academy  was  divided  into  ten  sections,  and  now- 
adays its  organization  remains  very  much  the  same  as  it 
was  nearly  a  century  ago,  although  in  the  mean  time  the 
relative  importance  of  the  different  sciences  has  greatly 
changed.     The   present  Academy  is  composed  as  fol- 


264  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

lows :  2  perpetual  secretaries ;  1 1  sections  under  the 
titles  of  Geometry,  Mechanics,  Astronomy,  Geography 
and  Navigation,  General  Physics,  Chemistry,  Mineral- 
ogy, Botany,  Rural  Economy,  Anatomy  and  Zoology, 
Medicine  and  Surgery,  each  section  composed  of  6 
members,  makinor  in  all  66.  To  this  number  must  be 
added  8  foreign  associates,  10  unattached  academicians, 
and  100  corresponding  members. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  its  connection  with  the 
history  of  the  progress  of  science  in  France  we  may 
overlook  the  few  years  of  interruption  occasioned  by  the 
events  of  the  Revolution,  and  thus  we  shall  find  that  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  has  had  a  regular  existence,  and 
continuous  archives  for  more  than  two  hundred  years. 
Originally  a  group  of  scientific  men,  among  whom 
were  Gassendi,  Descartes,  Blaise  Pascal,  and  his  father 
Etienne  Pascal,  used  to  meet  privately  on  stated  days 
at  the  house  of  one  of  their  number;  their  works  at- 
tracted public  and  royal  attention;  and  in  1666  Col- 
bert, who  was  then  elaborating  his  grandiose  schemes 
for  the  advancement  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  gave  these 
savants  an  assembly  room  in  the  King's  library  in  the 
Rue  Vivienne,  and  attached  thereto  certain  moneys  to 
be  devoted  to  pensions,  and  to  the  payment  of  the  cost 
of  experiments.  The  first  regular  meeting  of  the  Royal 
Academy  of  Sciences  took  place  on  December  22,  1666, 
and,  thanks  to  the  enlightened  protection  of  the  King, 
guided  by  Colbert,  the  Academy  at  once  prospered,  and 
began  the  publication  of  that  series  of  Memoires  de 
r Acadhnie  des  Sciences  which  contributed  so  remarka- 
bly to  spread  the  taste  and  forward  the  development  of 
scientific  research  both  in  France  and  in  all  other  civil- 
ized countries.  In  1699  His  Majesty  gave  this  Acade- 
m)^  a  definitive  constitution  and  new  rules,  and  also 
more  spacious  and  magnificent  rooms  for  its  assemblies 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  265 

and  its  growing  collections  in  his  own  Palace  of  the 
Louvre,  where  the  Academie  Fran9aise,  the  Academy 
of  Inscriptions  and  Medals,  the  Academy  of  Painting 
and  Sculpture,  and  the  Academy  of  Architects  already 
held  their  meetings.  The  rooms  occupied  by  the  Acad- 
emy of  Sciences  were  those  at  present  known  as  the 
Salle  Henri  II.,  the  Salon  des  Sept  Cheminees,  and 
another  room  occupied  by  the  Musee  Campana.  The 
visitor,  as  he  passes  through  these  rooms  where  the 
pictorial  and  antiquarian  treasures  of  the  Louvre  are 
now  displayed,  may  amuse  his  mind  for  a  moment  with 
the  souvenir  that  it  was  between  these  walls  that  the 
old  Academy  held  its  most  glorious  sittings  when  it 
counted  among  its  members  men  whose  names  were 
Malebranche,  Fontenelle,  Condorcet,  Buffon,  Lavoisier, 
Laplace,  Turgot,  the  Cassinis,  Lamarck,  Jussieu ;  and 
among  its  foreign  associates  Huygens,  Leibnitz,  Euler, 
Priestley,  Hunter,  and  Benjamin  Franklin. 

During  the  revolutionary  period  the  Academy,  be- 
sides its  usual  work,  was  consulted  by  the  Government 
on  all  kinds  of  questions  concerning  education,  finance, 
war,  naval  affairs,  and  agriculture,  and  its  most  consid- 
erable work  was  the  elaboration  of  a  new  system  of 
weights  and  measures,  the  uniformity  of  which  had 
been  ordained  by  a  law  passed  in  1790.  But  finally, 
in  1793,  the  Academy  of  Sciences  was  suppressed  by 
decree  of  the  Convention. 

Two  years  later,  October  25,  1795,  the  Institute  was 
created  on  bases  which  resembled  in  many  points  the 
grand  project  conceived  by  Colbert  more  than  a  century 
before,  and  after  sitting  for  a  few  years  in  the  old  rooms 
in  the  Louvre  the  different  Academies  were  finally  in- 
stalled, in  1806,  in  the  Palais  des  Ouatre  Nations,  or 
College  Mazarin,  where  they  now^  sit. 

In  the  schemes  of  the  centralization  of  the  labors  of 


266  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

the  human  mind  which  presided  over  the  foundation  of 
the  Institute,  the  physical  and  mathematical  sciences 
were  allotted  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  and  its  ob- 
ject and  attributions  were  defined  thus :  "  To  perfect 
the  sciences  and  arts  by  uninterrupted  researches,  by 
the  publication  of  discoveries,  by  correspondence  with 
learned  societies  abroad  ;  to  follow  up  all  scientific  works 
that  may  conduce  to  general  usefulness,  and  to  the  glory 
of  the  Republic." 

In  every  point  this  is  an  antiquated  and  quixotic  con- 
ception of  things.  Collective  researches,  according  to 
oflBcial  indications,  have  rarely  resulted  in  great  success. 
The  old  Academy  of  Sciences  wasted  thirty  years  of 
collective  efforts  in  the  chemical  study  of  plants  by  dry 
distillation  before  it  perceived  the  nullity  of  its  method. 
Afterwards  it  devoted  itself  with  more  success  to  en- 
cyclopedic work  —  that  is  to  say,  to  describing  known 
facts  and  recording  acquired  truths.  The  really  great 
services  that  the  old  Academy  of  Sciences  rendered 
were,  above  all,  in  its  astronomical  and  geodesic  labors, 
which  were  really  executed  by  a  few  specialists  of  genius 
like  Cassini. 

The  principal  business  of  the  present  Academy  is  to 
meet  every  Monday  in  order  to  hear  about  the  work 
of  its  members,  to  listen  to  reports  on  the  works  of  for- 
eign savants,  and  to  receive  communications,  whether 
from  corresponding  members  or  from  outsiders.  These 
meetings  are  public,  and  generally  very  animated  and 
interesting,  if  only  for  the  variety  of  the  faces  and  the 
distinction  of  their  owners. 

Vice-admiral  Paris,  Keeper  of  the  Marine  Museum 
in  the  Louvre,  enters  the  room  smiling  and  hearty,  and 
immediately  a  score  of  hands  are  extended  to  shake  the 
one  hand  which  the  fortunes  of  war  have  left  the  brave 
seaman.      Then   follow   the  astronomers,  Jannsen  and 


Nisaixl        Doutet        PdiUoron 


Coppee 


MEETING    OF     THE     FRENCH     ACADEMY 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  269 

Faye ;  Freycinet,  whose  aspect  and  movements  have 
given  him  the  sobriquet  of  "  the  white  mouse  f  Pasteur,. 
of  microbe  renown  ;  Berthelot,  learned  in  alchemy ;  and 
a  score  of  others,  each  one  eminent  in  his  specialty. 
But,  strange  to  say,  very  little  attention  seems  to  be 
paid  to  the  official  business  of  the  seance ;  the  presi- 
dent and  the  secretary  read  reports,  but  nobody  ap- 
pears to  listen ;  this  one  is  busy  distributing  his  latest 
pamphlet;  another  one  is  writing  letters  with  feverish 
haste  ;  others  are  talking  in  groups  ;  others  are  wander- 
ing round  the  labyrinthine  tables  and  greeting  their 
colleagues.  On  great  occasions,  of  course,  the  aspect 
of  the  seance  is  different,  and  practical  demonstrations, 
such,  for  instance,  as  Dr.  Brown- Sequard's  explanation 
of  his  apparatus  for  analyzing  the  air  breathed  by  con- 
sumptive patients,  will  rivet  the  attention  of  the  ma- 
jority of  the  members  present.  But,  generally,  the 
sittings  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  strike  the  visitor 
as  rather  incoherent  and  useless,  and  after  vainly  trying 
to  follow  the  proceedings,  he  will  finally  amuse  himself 
by  observing  the  wonderful  diversity  of  craniological 
formation  which  the  heads  of  the  distinguished  com- 
pany offer  to  his  view. 

At  the  meetings  of  this  Academy  there  are  seats  set 
apart  for  the  journalists,  who  report  the  proceedings  for 
the  daily  papers.  Indeed,  the  newspapermen  have  been 
the  cause  of  great  transformations  in  the  spirit  and  ac- 
tion of  the  Academy  of  Sciences ;  one  may  even  say 
that  the  Press  has  rendered  many  of  its  attributions 
antiquated  and  useless.  When  Arago  first  obtained 
the  admission  of  the  Press  to  the  sittings  of  this  Acade- 

O 

my,  fifty  years  ago,  and  when  the  publication  of  a  weekly 
bulletin  was  begun  about  the  same  time,  the  Academy 
at  once  gained  largely  in  notoriety,  and  acquired  a  wide- 
spread  fame   as   an   oracle,  but   at  the  same   time  the 


270  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

great  publicity  given  to  its  acts  enabled  public  opinion 
to  criticise  those  acts  with  more  or  less  competency, 
and  to  break  down  the  barrier  of  respect  which  had 
hitherto  surrounded  the  institution.  In  the  natural, 
course  of  things  the  daily,  and  particularly  the  scien- 
tific. Press  has,  so  to  speak,  taken  the  bread  out  of  the 
mouth  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences ;  on  the  other  hand, 
the  publicity  given  to  the  proceedings  has  caused  the 
results  of  scientific  research  to  converge  towards  the 
Academy  ;  but  the  Academy,  although  its  opinions  carry 
great  weight,  is  no  longer  absolute  judge  of  those  re- 
sults. Competent  men  disseminated  over  the  surface 
of  the  earth  are  able  to  form  their  own  opinion  with  the 
facts  laid  before  them  by  the  scientific  Press,  and  have 
no  need  to  wait  for  the  tardy  publication  of  the  costly 
memoirs  of  the  Academy.  The  correspondence  of  the 
Academy  wdth  native  and  foreign  savants  is  likewise  a 
superannuated  legacy  of  the  past.  The  Press  has  ren- 
dered useless  this  system  of  correspondence,  which  had 
its  raison  d'etre  when  Louis  XIV.  w^as  king,  when  there 
were  few^  scientists  in  the  world,  no  periodicals,  and  no 
well  organized  post-office  system.  Thus  it  appears  that 
the  actual  labors  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  have  di- 
minished greatly  in  importance  in  consequence  of  the 
natural  progress  of  things,  and  chiefly  on  account  of 
the  growth  of  the  newspaper  and  specialist  Press.  So 
far  as  concerns  research  the  Academy  of  the  present 
day  is  not  nearly  so  important  a  body  as  it  was  in  the 
last  century ;  its  influence  on  the  movement  of  science 
is  exercised  nowadays  by  the  prizes  that  it  gives,  and 
by  its  elections,  which  are  also  in  a  way  the  recompense 
of  scientific  merit.  The  present  role  of  the  Academy 
of  Sciences  is  to  encourage  talent  and  to  absorb  it. 
Indeed,  the  authority  of  the  Academy  depends  not  upon 
any  traditional  prestige,  but  upon  its  actually  counting 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  271 

among  its  members  all  the  eminent  Frenchmen  of  the 
day  who  are  accomplishing  great  work  in  science.  In 
the  opinion  of  one  of  its  most  distinguished  members, 
M.  Berthelot,  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  "  if  it  no  longer 
has  the  initiative  of  discoveries,  at  any  rate  presents  a 
dyke  against  charlatanism,  and  opens  liberally  its  wide 
publicity  to  the  works  of  French  and  foreign  savants. 
It  subsists  with  the  majesty  of  an  old  institution,  strong 
in  the  glory  of  its  members  and  in  the  souvenir  of  the 
services  that  science  has  rendered  and  still  renders  every 
day  to  human  societies."* 

*  At  the  present  day  the  budget  of  the  Academ}'  of  Sciences 
stands  as  follows  : 

FRANCS 

1.  The  members  of  the  Academy  are  divided  into  the  eleven 

sections  which  compose  it,  at  the  rate  of  six  members 
per  section  ,  the  Academy  is  therefore  composed  of 
sixty- six  members,  and  two  perpetual  secretaries; 
each  of  these  members  receives  an  annual  indemnity 
of   1500  francs 102,000 

2.  Besides  the  titulary  members,  there  exists,  since  18 16,  a 

class  of  ten  free  academicians,  who  receive  no  indem- 
nity except  the  presence  fee,  or  "  jetons  de  presence." 
For  each  member  this  fee  is  reckoned  at  an  annual 
total  of  300  francs 3,000 

3.  The  indemnity  paid  to  each  of  the  perpetual  secretaries 

is  6000  francs 1 2,000 

4.  The  Academy  receives  for  the  publication   of  its  Me- 

moires  and  of  its  Comptes  rendus  a  sum  of 54>ooo 

5.  The  publication  of  the  Memoires  des  savmits  etrangers  re- 

quires        14,000 

6.  The   above   publication    enjoys  at  the   Imprimerie  Na- 

tionale  for  gratuitous  printing  a  credit  of 4,000 

7.  The  budget  provides  for  a  prize 3,000 

The  total  budget  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in  1887  was  192,000 

As  regards  clerks'  work,  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  like  the  other 
Academies,  depends  on  the  Secretariat  of  the  Institute,  which  is  com- 
posed of  a  chief,  five  clerks,  two  ushers,  and  two  servants,  who 
divide  between  them  about  30,000  francs  a  year.  The  above  total 
of  the  budget  of  the  Academy  does  not  include  its  prize  fund,  which 
will  be  mentioned  further  on. 


BROWN-SEQUARD     EXPLAININCt     AN     EXPERIMENT    AT    THE     ACADEMY 

OF     SCIENCES 


Each  of  the  Academies  forming  the  Institute  of 
France  holds  weekly  meetings  in  the  Palais  Mazarin^ 
and  once  a  year,  on  October  25,  the  five  Academies  hold 
a  public  meeting  in  common.  The  Institute  is  under 
the  supreme  patronage  of  the  Minister  of  Public  In- 
struction, whose  budget  makes  provision  for  the  salary 
of  members,  for  the  presence  fees,  for  prizes,  and  for  all 
the  current  and  regular  expenses  of  the  five  sections. 
Each  of  the  Academies  manages  its  own  special  prop- 
erty and  funds  through  the  intermediary  of  commis- 
sioners chosen  among  the  members,  and  acting  under 
the  authority  of  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction. 

These  Academic  prizes  form  quite  an  important  ele- 
ment in  French  literary  and  scientific  life,  because 
most  of  them  are  destined  to  encourage  and  reward  re- 
searches and  works  of  erudition,  which  no  author  could 
undertake  if  he  had  to  depend  on  the  profits  of  his  book 
alone.     Then  the   Institute  awards  every  two  years  a 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  273 

prize  of  20,000  francs  on  the  proposition  of  each  of  the 
five  Academies  alternately,  so  that  in  turn  this  prize 
will  be  given  to  a  historian,  a  reader  of  hieroglyphics,  a 
scientific  man  like  Pasteur,  or  an  artist  like  the  sculptor 
Mercie.  The  Academy  of  Sciences  awards  every  year 
nearly  fifty  prizes,  representing  a  money  value  not  far 
short  of  200,000  francs.  The  Academic  Fran9aise  has 
thirty  foundations  representing  annually  some  130,000 
francs.  The  three  other  Academies  dispose  of  prizes 
to  the  value  of  nearly  200,000  francs.  Thus  the  prizes 
annually  distributed  by  the  five  sections  of  the  Insti- 
tute exceed  in  total  value  500,000  francs.  To  these 
existing  foundations  will  eventually  be  added  a  part  of 
the  enormous  revenues  accruing  from  the  domain  of 
Chantilly,  by  which  the  prize  fund  will  be  probably 
doubled.  It  will  be  curious  then  to  see  what  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Institute  will  do  with  their  money.  The 
natural  thino-  will  be  for  them  to  ameliorate  their  own 
lot  first  of  all  by  increasing  their  appointments,  for  evi- 
dently the  management  of  such  considerable  funds,  and 
the  task  of  awarding  so  many  prizes  will  justify  them  in 
demanding  more  than  their  present  salary,  which  is  that 
of  a  century  ago.  This  salary  of  members  of  the  In- 
stitute, of  whatever  Academy  or  section,  was  fixed  by 
the  Conseil  des  Cinq-Cents  in  a  law  dated  19  Messidor 
an  IV  (7  July,  1796),  and  the  same  body  determined  the 
manner  of  payment — namely,  1 200  francs  by  right  and 
300  francs  by  presence  fees.  These  latter  fees  are 
lumped  together  in  each  class  and  divided  among  those 
present  only.  In  the  different  Academies  this  pres- 
ence fee  amounts  nominally  to  about  six  and  a  half 
francs.  At  the  Academic  Fran9aise,  for  instance,  if  all 
the  forty  members  were  present  each  one  would  receive 
this  sum ;  but  as  all  the  members  rarely  attend  at  one 
time,  the  J e ^071  de  presence  becomes  worth  more,  thanks 
18 


2  74  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

to  the  lumping  together  and  division ;  finally,  on  wet 
days,  in  normal  times,  so  few  Academicians  come  to 
share  the  spoil  that  the  fee  will  be  worth  as  much  as 
two  napoleons.  I  remember  the  only  time  I  ever  dined 
in  company  with  Labiche — it  was  a  Thursday  in  mid- 
winter— that  famous  comic  writer  was  boasting  that  he 
had  that  afternoon  braved  snow  and  sleet  to  attend  the 
weekly  meeting  of  the  Academy.  "  Tout  de  meme,  j'ai 
gagne  mes  quarante  francs  aujourd'hui,"  he  said,  glee- 
fully. 

Of  all  the  sections  of  the  Institute  the  Academic 
Fran9aise  is  the  best  known  and  the  most  popular — 
I  had  almost  said  the  most  fashionable,  and  the  epithet 
would  not  be  entirely  misplaced,  for  the  social  role  of 
the  Academy  is,  perhaps,  more  prominent  even  than  its 
literary  activity.  The  history  of  the  Academy  is  too 
well  known  to  need  repeating.  For  our  purpose  it  suf- 
fices to  say  that  the  old  Academy  founded  by  Riche- 
lieu perished  with  the  throne  of  Louis  XVI.;  it  was 
suppressed  and  destroyed  like  all  the  other  Academies 
in  1793  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  National  Convention  had 
leisure  to  think  of  literature  and  the  arts  of  peace,  after 
the  more  imperious  cares  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  and 
the  proscriptions,  aspiring  to  leave  to  posterity  a  dura- 
ble and  enlightened  republican  regime,  it  founded  the 
Institute  in  1803  by  these  words: 

"  There  is  for  the  whole  republic  a  National  Insti- 
tute charged  with  centralizing  discoveries  and  perfect- 
ing the  arts  and  sciences." 

Concerning  the  Academy  particularly  the  decree  of 
the  Convention  says : 

"  It  is  especially  charged  with  making  a  dictionary  of 
the  French  tongue  ;  as  regards  language  it  shall  exam- 
ine important  works  of  literature,  history,  and  science. 
The  collection  of  its  critical  observations  shall  be  pub- 


JETON    DE    PRESENCE— M.    CHEVREUL    SIGNING    THE    PRESENCE    SHEET 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  277 

lished  at  least  four  times  a  year."  The  statutes  of  the 
Academy  are  almost  the  same  now  as  they  were  under 
the  old  regime :  it  is  composed  of  forty  members,  whose 
officers  are  a  director  and  a  chancellor,  elected  for  three 
months,  and  a  secretary,  elected  for  life,  who  bears  the 
title  of  perpetual  secretary.  Its  meetings  take  place 
every  Thursday,  and  in  May  it  holds  a  public  sitting  for 
the  distribution  of  its  prizes,  on  which  the  perpetual  sec- 
retary reads  an  extended  report.  The  perpetual  sec- 
retary of  the  Academy,  who  is  at  present  M.  Camille 
Doucet,  has  great  influence ;  he  may,  if  he  wishes,  be 
virtual  governor  of  the  institution ;  for  he  never  misses 
a  seance,  while  the  ordinary  Academicians  attend  irregu- 
larly or  absent  themselves  altogether  in  the  summer. 
The  perpetual  secretary  knows  all  the  questions  that 
will  be  submitted  at  a  meeting;  it  is  he  who  prepares 
them,  who  proposes  them,  and  who,  if  he  has  tact,  in- 
fluences their  solution  by  the  way  in  which  he  colors 
them.  He  has  the  first  and  last  word  in  all  discus- 
sions ;  he  is  the  guardian  of  the  traditions  of  the 
Academy,  which  he  may  remember  or  forget,  as  he 
thinks  proper;  he  draws  up  the  minutes  of  the  meet- 
ings; in  the  public  seances  he  is  the  official  mouth-piece 
of  the  company ;  his  salon  is  the  salon  of  the  Academy 
itself;  in  brief,  the  perpetual  secretary  is  the  personifica- 
tion of  the  Academy. 

So  much  for  the  organization  and  ideal  programme 
of  the  Academy.  Now  let  us  come  to  the  reality.  The 
Academy  does  not  publish  critical  observations  on  any- 
thing ;  and  as  for  its  historical  dictionary  of  the  French 
language,  which  was  begun  in  1852  and  is  still  in  prep- 
aration, M.  Renan  himself  has  publicly  declared  that 
at  the  present  rate  of  progression  it  will  be  ready  for 
issue  in  twelve  hundred  years  only,  according  to  the 

most  moderate  calculations. 
18* 


278  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

Then  what  does  the  Academy  do  ?  It  holds  meet- 
ings, distributes  prizes,  and  fulfils  its  social  duties.  The 
Academy,  it  has  been  said,  is  the  most  select  club  in 
Paris,  and  around  its  fireplace  may  be  heard  some  of 
the  best  talk  of  the  day.  The  pity  is  that  this  talk  can 
only  be  heard  by  members  of  the  Academy.  The 
echoes  of  it  that  reach  the  outer  world  are  vague  and 
distorted,  and  often  calumnious ;  at  least,  so  we  are 
told  by  the  Academicians  themselves,  who  are  naturally 
jealous  of  the  reputation  and  authority  of  their  body. 

But  in  what  does  this  authority  consist  ?  Is  the 
Academy  the  acknowledged  guardian  of  the  purity  of 
the  French  tongue  ?  Are  its  judgments  in  literature 
beyond  appeal  ?  Does  the  public  pay  heed  to  the  sen. 
tences  of  the  Forty  ?  During  the  first  quarter  of  the 
present  century  the  authority  of  the  Academy  was  un- 
contested. Traces  of  a  polemical  spirit  began  to  be 
manifested  in  its  reports  only  towards  1824,  when,  hav- 
ing come  to  regard  itself  as  an  orthodox  sanctuary,  the 
Academy,  as  a  body,  denounced  the  new  movement 
which  was  growing  up  under  the  vague  and  complex 
title  of  "  Romantisme,"  or,  of  the  Romanticist  school. 
Members  of  the  Academy  in  these  circumstances  made 
use  of  the  sacramental  terms  "  orthodoxy,"  "  sect,"  and 
"  schism,"  and  so  began  that  long  war  between  the 
Classicists  and  the  Romanticists.  Ever  since  that  time 
the  Academy  has  maintained  a  conservative  attitude 
full  of  suspicion  towards  novelty  and  audacity,  accept- 
ing only  after  years  of  resistance  reputations  which  the 
public  has  long  acclaimed.  Politics,  too,  have  played  a 
certain  role  in  the  history  of  the  Academy.  Since  the 
reorganization  of  the  Institute  in  1803  France  has  ex- 
perienced six  different  governments:  the  Empire,  the 
Restoration,  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  the  Republic 
of  1848,  the  Second  Empire,  and  the  present  Republic. 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE        .  279 

Of  these  the  Academy  seems  to  have  preferred  the  first 
three ;  and,  even  now  that  the  repubhc  is  so  firmly 
fixed  in  France,  the  Academy  still  manifests  platonic 
leanings  towards  Orleanism,  and  a  certain  distrust  and 
dislike  of  democracy.  But  this  phenomenon  will  not 
excite  astonishment  when  it  is  remembered  that  one  of 
the  most  active  and  influential  of  Academic  "  whips  "  is 
the  grandson  of  Madame  de  Stael,  "  His  Impertinence '' 
the  Due  de  Broglie,  whose  chief  joy  in  life  is  to  en- 
velop every  election  in  meshes  of  intrigue  so  fine  and 
subtle  that  his  Italian  ancestors,  from  their  Elysian  re- 
treat, must  look  down  with  pride  and  satisfaction  upon 
their  Machiavellian  successor.  Since  the  failure  of  his 
coMp  (Tetat  under  Marshal  MacMahon,  the  ambassador 
and  conspirator  of  the  early  years  of  the  republic  has 
been  reduced  to  a  condition  of  stremia  inertia;  but,  be- 
ing a  man  of  Italian  suppleness  and  gayety,  he  consoles 
himself  with  society,  gossip,  and  a  certain  dry  taste  for 
letters,  and  by  listening  to  his  own  grating,  shrill,  and 
spluttering  voice  in  the  salon  of  the  Rue  Solferino, 
over  which  presides  the  Princess  Victor  de  Broglie,  the 
dauphine  of  the  house,  the  duke  himself  being  a  wid- 
ower. 

The  French  Academy  holds  two  kinds  of  seances : 
the  first  for  itself,  the  second  for  a  privileged  section 
of  the  public.  The  ordinary  weekly  meetings  are  held 
every  Thursday  in  a  room  on  the  first  floor  of  the  In- 
stitute building  communicating  with  the  larger  room 
where  the  Academy  of  Sciences  sits.  As  they  go  in, 
the  forty  immortals  generally  deposit  their  hats  and 
coats  on  the  benches  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  and 
thus  form  the  subject  of  one  of  our  illustrations.  Their 
room  has  an  arched  roof  decorated  with  white  stucco 
"  rosaces  "  in  the  style  of  the  empire ;  around  the  walls, 
on  brackets,  are  busts  of  deceased  members  ;  and  in  the 


28o 


THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 


recess  over  the  chimney-piece  is  a  full-length  portrait  in 
oil  of  Cardinal  de  Richelieu.  The  seats,  simple  mahog- 
any chairs  upholstered  in  black  velvet,  are  arranged 
around  a  narrow  table  in  the  form  of  an  elongated  oval, 
hollow  in  the  middle,  and  covered  with  faded  green 
baize ;  and  before  each  seat  is  a  crockery  inkstand  and 
a  wooden  tray  containing  paper-knives  and  pen-holders. 
The  room  is  lighted  by  a  window  in  the  roof  and  by 
windows  along  one  wall  high  up  under  the  ceiling. 
Two  gas  lustres  hang  from  the  ceiling;  but  the  Acade- 
micians, being  old-fashioned  and  aristocratic,  prefer  can. 
dies,  and  in  an  adjoining  closet  the  inquisitive  visitor 
may  see  a  green  card-board  box  with  an  inscription  in  a 
clerkly  hand,  "  Chandeliers,"  and  on  opening  the  box 
he  will  find  it  full  of  silver  candlesticks.  This  is  all 
that  an  outsider  can  say  about  the  ordinary  meetings 
of  the  Academy,  for  they  are  secret  and  mysterious, 
and  all  the  information  that  the  best  reporter  can  ob. 
tain  may  be  summed  up  in  the  stereotyped  paragraph : 
"  The  French  Academy  held  its  usual  weekly  meeting 


VOTING    AT    THE     INSTITUTE 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE 


281 


yesterday  afternoon. 
Messieurs  X,  Y,  Z  were 
present.    Ces  messieurs 

worked  at  the  Diction- 

■>■> 
ary. 

The  public  meetings 
of  the  Academic  Fran- 
9aise  are  held  three  or 
four  times  a  year,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  re- 
ception of  new  mem- 
bers and  of  the  spring 


711 


'.r 


'15  i 

-Ji  I; ; 


'icr 


'■^^ 


"^fes^  -^^ 


;J^^'- 


\  .*N^ 


THE  HATS  OF  THE  FRENCH  ACADEMY 

distribution  of  prizes,  whether  for  Hterary  merit  or  for 
impecunious  virtue.  On  these  gala-days  the  Dictionary 
is  hidden  away.     Many  of  the  Academicians  don  their 


282  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

embroidered  uniforms — which  they  themselves  irrever- 
ently call  "  wearing  parsley  " — gird  on  their  little  swords 
with  mother-of-pearl  handles,  have  their  hair  nicely 
combed  and  curled,  and  prepare  to  withstand  the  scru- 
tiny of  a  fair  and  fashionable  audience.  The  meeting 
is  held  in  what  was  formerly  the  chapel  of  the  College 
des  Ouatre  Nations,  a  very  small  amphitheatre  with 
tribunes  and  galleries — altogether  a  most  primitive,  in- 
commodious, and  chilly  place,  the  general  aspect  of 
which  reminds  one  strongly  of  a  mausoleum. 

If  you  are  a  simple  mortal  without  influence  or  pro- 
tection you  will  be  able,  at  best,  to  obtain  only  an  un- 
numbered ticket  for  a  gallery ;  and  in  order  to  get  a 
decent  place  you  will  have  to  stand  outside  for  hours 
awaiting  the  opening  of  the  doors,  and  then,  when  the 
fatal  moment  comes,  you  will  make  a  rush  for  the  front 
seats  at  the  risk  of  breaking  your  neck  in  the  dark 
staircase.  Whenever  a  reception  excites  especial  curi- 
osity the  queue  at  the  doors  of  the  Institute  begins  to 
form  at  seven  and  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  although 
the  doors  are  not  opened  until  one  o'clock.  Many  send 
their  servants,  or  hire  commissioners  to  keep  a  place  in 
the  line,  which  they  themselves  come  and  occupy  in 
time  to  join  in  the  rush.  It  would  be  easy,  of  course, 
to  avoid  this  cruel  qiLeiie  by  numbering  all  the  places  in 
the  room,  and  by  giving  only  just  so  many  tickets  as 
there  are  places;  but  the  tradition  of  the  Institute  is 
opposed  to  such  a  change.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
are  fortunate  enough  to  enjoy  the  esteem  of  Pingard, 
the  factotum  of  the  Institute,  or  if  you  are  acquainted 
with  a  member  of  the  Academy,  you  will  receive  a 
ticket  for  the  amphitheatre  or  hemicycle,  in  which  case 
you  may  lunch  at  leisure,  see  all  the  fun,  and  enter  the 
room  at  the  last  moment  through  what  we  may  call  the 
entree  des  artistes,  with  the  ambassadors  and  the  blue- 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  283 

stockings  of  the  first  grade.  In  the  court-yard  of  the 
Institute  the  carriages  arrive  and  deposit  Academicians 
and  fine  ladies  at  the  foot  of  the  mossy  old  steps ;  there 
are  greetings  and  bowings  and  silvery  feminine  laugh- 
ter; the  vestibule  fills  with  celebrities  of  both  sexes, 
who  crowd  the  infantry  soldiers  drawn  up  in  line  at  the 
foot  of  the  statues  and  ready  to  present  arms  when 
the  dignitaries  of  the  Academy  arrive ;  among  the  privi- 
leged are  some  who  have  come  to  a  reception  for  the 
first  time,  and  who  linger  to  admire  the  fine  statues 
that  are  hidden  away  in  the  dark  corners  of  this  long 
and  cobwebby  antechamber — La  Fontaine,  Moliere, 
Corneille,  D'Alembert,  Napoleon  in  his  imperial  robes, 
and  Montaigne  in  no  robe  at  all. 

An  usher  with  a  silver  chain  round  his  neck  dis- 
creetly opens  a  door,  you  descend  a  few  carpet-covered 
stairs,  and,  behold  !  you  are  beneath  the  dome  of  the  In- 
stitute, and  Pingard  with  insinuating  gestures  invites 
you  to  sit  on  a  very  narrow  bench. 

The  light  striking  down  from  the  windows  in  the 
drum  of  the  cupola  is  pale  and  cold ;  the  atmosphere  is 
slightly  charged  with  suave  perfumes  of  heliotrope,  iris, 
and  Spanish  leather ;  there  is  a  perpetual  froufrou  of 
feminine  vesture  and  a  whispering  of  indistinct  con- 
versations. Everybody  seems  penetrated  with  respect. 
You  examine  the  room.  How  chilling  and  severe ! 
The  very  statues  of  Bossuet,  Fenelon,  Descartes,  and 
Sully  seem  to  be  shivering  in  their  niches.  And  that 
little  curly-headed  bust  high  up  on  one  wall,  facing  the 
bureau,  with  the  inscription,  "  A  la  Vertu,"  why  is  it 
there  ?  And  those  three  doors  over  which  are  written 
the  words  "  Sciences,  Lettres,  Arts,"  are  we  to  attach 
any  significance  to  the  fact  that  the  central  door,  the 
door  of  "  Lettres,"  is  barred  by  the  bureau  of  the  Acad- 
emy, and  therefore  inexorably  and  inevitably  closed.? 


284  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

Half  the  amphitheatre  reserved  for  the  members  of 
the  Institute  is  deserted  and  silent,  for  these  great  men 
are  still  gossiping  in  the  court-yard ;  the  other  half  is 
occupied  by  a  worldling  and  literary  public,  in  which 
the  women  predominate.  As  you  look  around  you  see 
nothing  but  pretty  faces,  pretty  hats,  pretty  smiles, 
waving  fans,  opera-glasses  raised  to  recognize  a  friend, 
and  lowered  to  acknowledge  a  salute.  Everybody  knows 
everybody,  at  least  by  sight.  Here  is  the  famous  blue- 
stocking and  poetess,  Madame  A,  and  the  celebrated 
novelist,  Madame  B,  who  will  never  be  allowed  to  enter 
Paradise,  even  if  they  become  as  mighty  geniuses  as 
George  Sand,  who,  by-the-way,  held  that  the  Academy 
is  a  remnant  of  literary  feudalism,  useless  both  for  men 
and  women  alike.  Here  are  the  society  ladies  who  re- 
ceive Academicians;  Madame  Buloz,  whose  salon  is  that 
of  the  Revtie  des  Deux-Mondes,  and  the  traditional  ves- 
tibule of  the  Institute;  the  Comtesse  Potocka,  who  has 
an  Academic  lunch-party  on  Sundays;  and  Madame 
Aubernon,  who  rules  conversation  with  a  silver  bell, 
against  which  even  M.  Renan  does  not  venture  to  rebel. 
Hence  the  story  that  in  the  course  of  one  of  these 
Academic  dinners,  while  some  other  celebrity  was  speak- 
ing, M.  Renan  made  as  if  he  would  utter  articulate 
sounds,  but  the  hostess  promptly  suppressed  him.  Then 
when  his  turn  came  round  Madame  Aubernon  tinkled 
her  bell  and  gave  M.  Renan  leave  to  speak.  "  Alas, 
madame,"  replied  the  great  sceptic,  "  it  is  too  late ;  I 
wished  to  ask  for  a  second  helping  of  spinach." 

Here  and  there  are  novelists,  poets,  dramatists,  who 
are  paying  court  to  the  Academy  and  hoping  to  get 
elected  one  of  these  days.  Here  is  B,  who  has  just  had 
a  feeble  novel  jobbed  into  the  Revue  des  Deux-Mondes. 
B  has  married  a  rich  and  pretty  wife  with  a  view  to 
opening  an  Academic  salon,  and  so  achieving  immor- 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  285 

tality.  His  pretty  wife  is  beside  him  in  a  delicious  toilet, 
specially  created  for  the  occasion  by  that  great  artist 
Epinglard.  She  is  particularly  gracious  to  Z,  who  has 
written  a  few  witty  pieces,  and  who,  being  rich  and  an 
epicure,  is  "  running  for  "  the  Academy  on  the  strength 
of  his  Q-Qod  dinners.  Z  is  a  rival  who  must  be  con- 
ciliated.  Next  to  Z  are  some  American  girls,  whose 
piquant  beauty  and  vivacious  talk  has  won  them  the 
protection  of  the  belle  Madame  P,  who  also  receives 
Academicians  at  dinner,  and  talks  literature  with  an 
awkwardness  as  charming  as  the  natural  ga2icherie  with 
wdiich  women  play  at  billiards.  Madame  P  is  conspicu- 
ous with  her  royal  blue  velvet  robe,  but  she  is  not 
dressed  with  such  good  taste  as  her  neighbor,  Madem- 
oiselle R,  of  the  Comedie-Fran9aise,  who  happens  to 
be  sitting  near  two  equally  obese  and  famous  men — 
Blowitz,  the  correspondent  of  the  Times,  and  Sarcey, 
the  dramatic  critic,  who  has  been  present  at  every 
Academic  reception  during  the  past  twenty  years. 

But  one  o'clock  strikes ;  a  thrill  of  impatience  runs 
through  the  audience ;  a  movement  is  heard  in  the  lob- 
by. '' Presentez  arrrmes  T'  The  door  opens,  and  the 
Academicians  and  various  members  of  the  Institute 
enter,  the  dignitaries,  clad  in  gala  costume,  passing  first. 
There  is  a  little  tumult,  some  hand-shakings,  a  certain 
haste  to  find  a  seat,  some  salutations  waved  gracefully 
to  the  great  dames  among  the  audience,  which  cranes 
its  neck  and  seeks  to  recognize  the  Immortals ;  and 
there  is  Dumas,  looking  handsome  and  haughty ;  there 
is  Sardou,  posing  for  a  Holbein  ;  Renan,  whose  features 
call  to  mind  those  of  the  regretted  comedian  Hyacinthe 
of  the  Palais  Royal ;  Taine,  the  great  impersonal  in- 
tellect delighting  in  the  cold  examination  and  rectifi- 
cation of  the  facts  of  French  history ;  Gaston  Boissier, 
the  mellifluous  cicerone  of  ancient  Rome ;  Jules  Cla- 


286  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

retie  and  Edouard  Herve,  who  represent  journalism;  Le- 
conte  de  Lisle,  Coppee,  and  Sully  Prudhomme,  a  trin- 
ity of  poets  ;  Pailleron  and  Halevy,  who  personify  the 
lighter  stage;  Jules  Simon  and  Camille  Doucet,  who 
consider  the  Academy  to  be  the  centre  of  the  universe, 
and  nothing  less  than  Paradise ;  Rousse,  Duruy,  Cher- 
buliez,  Mgr.  Perraud,  Pierre  Loti,  d'Haussonville,  Me- 
zieres,  and  the  other  Academicians,  whose  names  the 
public  can  never  remember. 

But  enough  of  the  spectacle  in  the  house,  and  of  the 
spectacle  on  the  stage.  Let  us  come  to  the  ceremony  of 
the  reception  itself.  And  here  let  it  be  remarked  that 
the  traditional  fauteuil  is  an  archaeological  snare ;  the 
members  of  the  Academy  and  of  the  different  sections 
of  the  Institute  do  not  sit  in  arm-chairs,  or  even  in 
chairs  without  arms ;  the  only  sitting  accommodation 
they  have  consists  of  benches  covered  with  faded  green 
velvet.  The  Academic  fauteuil  is  a  fiction  based  on  a 
fact.  In  the  old  Academy  founded  by  Richelieu,  Louis 
XIV.  desired  that  the  most  perfect  equality  should  reign 
between  all  the  members,  whatever  their  social  rank  or 
condition  might  be.  For  a  long  time  the  Academicians 
used  to  sit  in  simple  chairs ;  but  one  day  the  old  Car- 
dinal d'Estrees  having  asked  for  an  easier  seat,  the 
King  gave  orders  for  forty  arm-chairs  exactly  alike  to 
be  placed  in  the  Academy  so  that  no  member  should  be 
in  any  way  distinguished  from  his  colleagues.  Such 
was  the  origin  of  i\\Q  fauieuil,  the  traditional  symbol  of 
the  Academic  dignity.  So,  then,  we  will  suppose  that 
the  Immortals  and  the  other  members  of  the  Institute 
have  settled  themselves  on  the  benches.  In  the  centre 
of  the  hemicycle  is  the  bureau  of  the  Academy,  the 
director  and  his  assessors,  the  perpetual  secretary,  M. 
Camille  Doucet,  the  recipiendaire,  or  victim,  and  his  two 
sponsors,  all  clad  in  strange  attire,  embroidered  with 


Bonnat 
L'ENTREE     DES     ARTISTES 


Massenet  Thomas 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  289 

brilliant  green  leaves,  and  carrying  cocked  hats  and  in- 
nocuous swords,  according  to  the  model  devised  by 
Napoleon  I. 

The  sitting  having  been  opened,  the  recipiendaire,  or 
newly- elected  member,  rises  and  reads  a  eulogy  of  his 
deceased  predecessor,  which  lasts  about  an  hour.  Then 
the  Academician  charged  with  receiving  the  new-comer 
rises  in  his  turn,  and  during  another  hour  says  disagree- 
able things  to  him,  always  in  the  politest  terms. 

At  about  three  o'clock  the  ceremony  is  over.  The 
court-yard  of  the  Institute  and  the  Quai  Conti  present 
a  gay  and  animated  appearance.  Some  of  the  Acade- 
micians go  away  on  foot,  others  in  cabs,  others  in  smart 
coupes,  while  the  heroes  and  the  orators  of  the  seance 
are  surrounded  by  groups  of  charming  ladies,  who  con- 
gratulate them  and  invite  them  to  dinner ;  for  a  new 
Academician  is  always  overwhelmed  with  invitations,  a 
fact  which  caused  Labiche  to  say  after  he  had  been 
elected  and  received  at  the  Academy,  "  Tiens :  je  ne 
savais  pas  qu'on  etait  nourri "  (I  did  not  know  that  we 
were  boarded  into  the  bargain).  And  so,  after  hanging 
about  a  little  to  see  and  to  be  seen,  to  shake  hands  with 
X,  and  to  catch  the  eye  of  Z,  the  reporter  who  will  put 
their  names  in  the  papers,  the  worldlings  disperse,  happy 
to  be  able  to  say  at  the  five -o'clock  of  the  marquise,  or 
at  dinner  at  the  comtesse's,  "  Charming,  the  reception 
at  the  Academy  this  afternoon.  You  were  not  there, 
cJiere  comtesse  ?  The  house  was  most  elegant,  a  regular 
first-night  audience.  Pailleron's  speech  was  a  master- 
piece of  delicate  wit  and  suave  malice.  Astonishing, 
those  Academicians ;  they  are  like  a  lot  of  old  cats. 
They  watch  their  new  colleague,  and  play  with  him  as 
if  he  were  a  mouse,  turning  him  over  with  a  profusion 
of  graceful  and  mischievous  gestures,  and  finally,  having 
despatched  the  poor  victim  with  a  sharp  and  insidious 
19 


290  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

epigram,  they  pur  and  jubilate,  and  go  home  exclaim- 
ing, '  Quelle  belle  reception  /'  Madame  P  was  there  in  a 
steel  gray  costume,  a  marvel,  ch^re  comtesse.  She  and 
Madame  S  were  in  the  very  centre,  in  the  corbeille,  f}ta 
cliere,  right  under  the  new  Academician's  nose.  Ma- 
dame S  seemed  to  be  literally  drinking  in  his  words. 
Une  super  be  reception,  ma  dure  f' 

Such  in  its  main  outlines  is  the  aspect  of  a  reception 
at  the  French  Academy.  So  far  as  concerns  the  spec- 
tators and  the  actors,  the  annual  public  meeting  of  the 
Academy  held  in  May  is  much  the  same;  the  pro- 
gramme, however,  is  more  varied.  First  of  all,  M. 
Camille  Doucet,  most  amiable,  sociable,  and  indefatiga- 
bly  polite,  reads  his  report  on  the  various  prizes  which 
are  to  be  distributed ;  then  one  of  the  Academicians 
who  is  a  good  elocutionist  reads  a  fragment  from  the 
manuscript  which  has  won  the  composition  prize ;  next 
one  of  the  Academicians  reads  a  report  on  the  acts  of 
heroism  or  of  virtue  the  Academy  has  thought  worthy 
of  recompensing  with  the  prizes  of  the  Monthyon  foun- 
dation. This  report  has  been  looked  forward  to  with 
expectation  since  Renan,  Dumas,  Sardou,  and  Pailleron 
ventured  to  make  it  amusing  as  a  comedy  instead  of 
remaining  within  the  limits  of  a  lay  homily. 

We  may  safely  say,  I  think,  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  re- 
gards with  considerable  respect  the  Institute  of  France, 
and  its  best  known  section,  the  French  Academy.  In 
their  heart  of  hearts  the  French  themselves  respect  it, 
too,  but  nevertheless  they  have  persisted  in  scoffing  at 
it  ever  since  its  foundation.  Saint- Evremond  began 
the  game  with  his  comedy,  "  Les  Academiciens,"  and 
since  then  the  fire  of  epigrams  has  never  ceased  except 
during  the  Revolution,  when  the  target  was  suppressed. 
"  The  Academy,"  said  Voltaire,  "  is  a  body  whose  mem- 
bers receive  titled  people,  place-holders,  prelates,  magis- 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  291 

trates,  doctors,  geometers,  and  even  'inen  of  letiersT 
Piron  said,  "  They  are  forty,  and  they  have  no  more  wit 
than  four.  lis  sont  quarante  qui  out  de  V esprit  comme 
quatrer  The  same  Piron,  speaking  of  the  pompous  re- 
ception speeches,  declared  that  it  would  be  quite  suffi- 
cient if  the  new  Academician  on  taking  his  seat  were 
to  say,  ''  Messieurs,  grand  merci,''  to  which  the  members 
of  the  Academy  would  reply,  "  Monsieur,  il  11  y  a  pas 
de  quoir  "  Bare  as  an  Academician's  speech,"  was  the 
best  simile  Alfred  de  Musset  could  find  to  convey  the 
idea  of  consummate  baldness;  and  in  truth,  with  rare 
-exceptions,  these  reception  speeches  are  poor  enough. 
And  yet  with  how  much  care  are  they  prepared  !  A 
year  elapses  between  the  election  and  the  reception  of 
an  Academician.  During  that  period  he  has  to  read 
up  the  complete  works  of  his  predecessor  with  a  view 
to  pronouncing  his  eulogy.  Having  written  his  eulogy, 
he  submits  it  to  the  Academy,  and  his  prose  is  dis- 
cussed and  commented  upon  phrase  by  phrase ;  his 
effects  are  noted,  and  his  pauses  for  breath  and  ap- 
plause indicated  in  the  margin  of  the  manuscript.  Then 
the  Academician  who  is  to  reply  proceeds  to  work  over 
this  speech,  and  seeks  to  be  witty  and  malicious ;  and, 
finally,  the  Academy  discusses  and  comments  his 
speech,  marks  his  effects,  and  notes  his  pauses ;  and 
when  the  great  day  arrives  all  is  ready ;  there  is  no  sur- 
prise except  for  the  public,  when  by  chance  an  Acade- 
mician makes  a  brilliant  and  amusing  speech. 

Sainte-Beuve  in  his  correspondence  depicts  the  true 
man  of  letters  as  pursuing  his  career  "  with  love  and 
dignity,  with  happiness  in  producing,  with  respect  for 
the  masters,  welcome  for  the  young,  and  friendly  in- 
timacy with  his  equals,  and  so  arriving  at  the  honors  of 
the  profession — that  is  to  say,  the  Institute."  But  the 
trouble  is  that  a  Frenchman  can  rarely  enter  the  doors 


292  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

of  the  Institute,  or  at  any  rate  of  the  French  Academy, 
without  sacrificing  something  of  his  independence. 
When  the  poet  Fran9ois  Coppee  was  elected  to  the 
Academy,  he  was  obliged  to  give  up  his  weekly  theat- 
rical article  in  La  Patrie  newspaper  in  order  to  avoid 
criticising  the  works  of  his  colleag^ues  of  the  Academic. 
Auguste  Vacquerie  has  repeatedly  refused  to  become  a 
candidate  at  the  Academy,  although  his  election  was 
certain ;  he  will  not  sacrifice  one  atom  of  his  independ- 
ence of  thought  and  of  pen.  The  same  is  the  case 
with  Alphonse  Daudet,  and  half  a  dozen  other  dis- 
tinguished French  writers,  who  will  never  become  mem- 
bers of  the  French  Academy  so  lonq-  as  its  ors^anization 
remains  what  it  is.  '  The  Academy,"  said  Sainte-Beuve, 
in  a  private  conversation,  "  is  horribly  afraid  of  Bohe- 
mians. If  the  Academicians  have  not  seen  a  man  in 
their  salons,  they  will  not  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.  They  dread  him.  tie  is  not  a  man  of  their 
sphere,  ce  nest  pas  mi  Jiomme  de  leur  mo7ider  It  was 
for  social  and  sartorial  reasons  of  this  nature  that  the 
Academy  des  Beaux-Arts  refused  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  the  sculptor  Rude.  One  of  the  reasons  which 
the  French  Academy  alleged  for  refusing  Balzac  \vas 
that  he  had  debts ;  and  Alfred  de  Musset  was  for  a  long 
time  kept  waiting  at  the  door  because  his  cravats  were 
not  tied  as  correctly  as  the  Academicians  desired.  The 
great  Dumas  was  rejected  because  he  had  collaborators, 
although  the  same  fact  had  not  stood  in  the  way  of 
Monsieur  Scribe  ;  Baudelaire  and  Flaubert  were  pro- 
nounced ineligible  because  their  books  had  no  immediate 
moral  utility;  and  the  only  reason  found  for  not  en- 
couraging Gautier  was  that  he  was  slovenly  in  his  per- 
son and  had  long  and  abundant  hair,  whereas  a  perfect 
Academician  ought  to  be  baldish  at  least.  Indeed, 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  the  paradoxical  defini- 


ki'M 


PUBLIC    MEETING    OF    THE     FIVE    ACADEMIES     OF    THE    INSTITUTE 
JOSEPH     BERTRAND     PRESIDING 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  295 

tion  of  the  Academy  as  the  most  exclusive  club  in 
Paris ;  a  place  where  fine  manners  and  a  courtly  bear- 
ing enable  a  man  to  shine  with  more  brilliancy  than  tal- 
ent and  originality.  This  appears  to  have  been  the  opin- 
ion of  Guizot,  who,  in  the  course  of  a  discussion  on  the 
merits  of  a  certain  candidate  for  a  seat  in  the  Acade- 
my, thus  summed  up  his  views :  "  I  shall  vote  certainly 
for  X,  because  I  find  that  he  has  all  the  qualities  of  a 
veritable  Academician.  In  the  first  place  he  has  a  good 
presence,  and  besides  that  he  is  very  polite,  he  is  deco- 
rated, and  he  has  no  opinions.  I  am  aware  that  he  has 
written  a  few  good  books,  but  what  will  you  ?  No  man 
is  perfect." 

Let  us,  then,  cease  to  regard  the  Academicians  as 
vestals  whose  vigilance  keeps  alive  the  sacred  fire  of 
French  literature.  If  the  Academy  were  to  be  sup- 
pressed to-morrow,  as  it  was  in  1793,  French  literature 
would  find  itself  in  no  danger  of  extinction.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  Academy  are  rather  to  be  looked  upon  as 
amiable,  and,  generally,  polite  gentlemen,  who  meet  for 
an  hour  or  two  every  week  always  in  the  good  inten- 
tion of  doing  something,  although,  usually,  they  succeed 
only  in  exchanging  a  few  ideas  on  the  events  of  the 
day,  on  the  last  reception  of  the  Marquise  So-and-so, 
and  on  the  suavity  of  feminine  society  in  general. 

Relations,  influence,  good  bearing,  a  certain  manner 
of  speaking,  and  another  of  holding  one's  peace;  the 
frequentation  of  a  special  social  set,  assiduous  attend- 
ance in  certain  salons,  are  the  means  which  most  read- 
ily carry  a  man  in  triumph  to  the  French  Academy. 
Hence  it  happens  that  very  many  of  the  forty  immor- 
tals will  never  have  been  anything  but  Academicians. 

In  their  Jourjial  the  Goncourts  record  the  following 
words  of  Sainte-Beuve  in  reply  to  their  question  about 
the  candidature  of  Theophile  Gautier :  "  It  has  not  the 


296  •  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

slightest  chance ;  he  would  need  a  whole  year  of  visits 
and  solicitations  ;  none  of  the  Academicians  know  him. 
You  see  the  great  point  is  that  they  must  have  seen 
you,  they  must  have  made  acquaintance  with  your  face. 
An  election,  mark  you,  is  an  intrigue — an  intrigue  in 
the  good  sense  of  the  word,"  and  this  is  why  women 
and  salons  play  such  a  role  in  the  Academic  world,  and 
why  you  see  so  many  ladies  at  all  the  receptions  of  the 
Academy.  But  this  state  of  affairs  is  no  novelty.  Vol. 
taire,  who  became  an  Academician  through  the  influ- 
ence of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  long  ago  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  "  in  order  to  make  the  smallest  fortune 
it  is  better  to  be  in  the  good  graces  of  a  king's  mis- 
tress than  to  write  a  hundred  volumes."  In  reality,  the 
Academy  has  never  at  any  time  been  absolutely  free  in 
its  elections.  In  the  early  days  of  its  history  Richelieu 
was  supreme  Protector  and  Regent  of  the  company, 
and,  because  the  cardinal  could  not  forget  that  his 
tragedy  of  "  Mirame  "  was  a  failure  and  "  The  Cid  "  a  suc- 
cess, Corneille  was  obliged  to  wait  at  the  doors.  In  their 
turn  the  grand  ladies  who  frequented  the  Hotel  Ram- 
bouillet  reigned  over  the  Academy,  and  showed  them- 
selves hostile  to  new  talent.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
the  salons  of  Madame  De  Lambert,  Madame  De  Ten- 
cin,  Madame  Geoffrin,  Mademoiselle  Lespinasse,  and 
Madame  Necker  held  the  keys  of  the  learned  company ; 
and  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  at  the  present  moment 
the  descendants  of  Madame  Necker,  the  Due  de  Brog- 
lie,  and  the  Comte  d'Haussonville,  still  contrive  to  con- 
tinue the  traditions  of  the  chatelaine  of  Coppet,  and  to 
render  an  election  to  the  Academy  an  intrigue,  an  af- 
fair where  preferment  goes  by  letter  and  affection,  and 
where  affection  must  be  courted  assiduously,  and  ac- 
cordinfj  to  the  rules  and  formulas.  And  one  of  the  most 
embarrassino"  of  these  rules  is  the  visit  to  solicit  votes. 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE 


297 


When  the  old  Academy  was  first  founded,  it  was  not 
necessary  for  candidates  for  election  to  solicit  the  suf- 
frages of  the  body ;  but  one  Armand  d'Andilly  having 
been  elected,  and  having  declined  the  honor,  it  was  de- 
cided that  in  future,  in  order  to  avoid  a  similar  humilia- 
tion, none  should  be  elected  unless  he  had  solicited 
election.  This  rule  was  maintained  when  the  present 
Academy  was  founded  ;*  and  now  every  man  who  con- 
siders himself  distinguished  enough  to  merit  immor- 
tality, is  obliged  to  put  on  his  hat,  coat,  and  gloves,  hire 
a  cab  by  the  hour,  and  go  from  house  to  house  to  make 
thirty-nine,  thirty-eight,  or  thirty-seven  visits,  according 
to  the  number  of  Academicians  who  have  died  in  the 
course  of  the  year.  What  a  trial  for  an  independent 
literary  man  who  has  won  his  position  by  dint  of  hard 
battling  in  the  midst  of  which  literary  usages  and  liter- 
ary personalities  have  received  many  a  hit !  Imagine 
the  embarrassment  of  that  marmorean  poet,  Leconte 
de  Lisle,  as  he  solicited  the  vote  of  M.  Legouve,  the 
man  who  is  the  best  reader  in  the  world,  one  of  the 
best  fencers,  and  one  of  the  poorest  writers  of  couplets. 
Imagine  M.  Pailleron  soliciting  the  vote  of  M.  Caro, 
after  having  caricatured  him  in  his  comedy  "Le  Monde 
oi^i  Ton  s'ennuie  "  so  transparently  that  it  became  the 
talk  of  the  town. 

And  all  this  is  not  said  with  the  view  to  criticisino:  the 
Academy,  or  questioning  the  right  of  the  illustrious  com- 
pany to  govern  itself  as  it  pleases  and  to  do  as  it  likes. 
Some  vainly  say  the  Academy  has  no  right  to  reject 

*  In  modern  times  Thiers  is  tlie  only  exception  to  this  rule.  Being 
in  1833  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  in  the  full  glory  of  his  political 
career,  the  author  of  the  Histoire  de  la  Revolution  abstained  from  all 
visits,  and  simply  charged  his  friends  with  informing  the  Academy 
of  the  honor  that  he  was  disposed  to  show  that  body  by  allowing 
himself  to  be  elected. 


298  THE    PRAISE    OF    PARIS 

such  and  such  a  man  of  talent.  Evidently  a  company, 
like  an  individual,  enjo5^s  liberty  of  action  ;  but,  like 
an  individual,  it  loses  more  or  less  of  its  responsibility 
according  as  it  uses  its  liberty  in  a  manner  which  is  not 
shocking  to  common-sense  or  to  justice.  During  its 
existence  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  French 
Academy,  both  the  old  one  and  the  modern  one,  has 
numbered  many  illustrious  Frenchmen  in  its  ranks ; 
but  there  has  always  been  an  imaginary  forty-first  arm- 
chair in  which  public  opinion  has  seated  an  illustri- 
ous victim  of  the  neglect  or  caprice  of  the  occupants 
of  the  forty  real  Academicians.  The  men  to  whom 
public  opinion  has  attributed  this  imaginary  arm-chair 
have  been  Descartes,  Pascal,  Scarron,  Moliere,  Jean  Bap- 
tiste  Rousseau,  Bayle,  Saint-Simon,  Regnard,  La  Roche- 
foucauld, Le  Sage,  the  Abbe  Prevost,  Vauvenargues, 
Piron,  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  Diderot,  Joseph  De 
Maistre,  Mirabeau,  Beaumarchais,  Andre  Chenier,  Ri- 
varol,  Paul  Louis  Courier,  Lamennais,  Stendhal,  Louis 
Veuillot,  Michelet,  Balzac,  Theophile  Gautier,  Alex- 
andre Dumas,  the  elder.  Nevertheless,  on  this  ques- 
tion of  the  reception  of  some  and  the  exclusion  of 
others,  we  must  not  too  hastily  condemn  the  Academy. 
Already  more  than  a  century  ago  D'Alembert  excused 
the  company  in  these  words :  "  In  order  to  appreciate 
justly  the  hazardous  or  equivocal  choices  made  by  the 
Academy  on  certain  occasions,  we  must  not  ask  what 
posterity  will  think  of  the  Academicians  on  whom  the 
choice  fell ;  we  must  see  what  the  contemporary  public 
thought  of  them ;  we  must  examine  if  the  votes  that 
they  obtained  were  not  for  the  moment  sufficiently  jus- 
tified either  by  brilliant  though  ephemeral  success,  or 
by  the  impossibility  of  finding  more  eligible  subjects." 

Seriously,  the  prestige  of  the  French  Academy  has 
declined  considerably  of  late  years,  and  the  proof  of  it 


THE    INSTITUTE    OF    FRANCE  299 

is  that  whenever  a  vacancy  occurs  the  candidates  are 
often  confessed  mediocrities,  and  rarely  eminent  men  of 
letters.  To  belong  to  the  Academy  confers  no  advan- 
tage ;  the  mention  "  de  I'Academie  Fran9aise  "  after  the 
author's  name  on  the  cover  of  a  book  does  not  insure  a 
big  sale,  as  M.  Xavier  Marmier  and  half  a  dozen  other 
nonentities  could  tell  us.  The  annual  salary  of  1200 
francs,  plus  the  presence  fee  of  6  francs  50  centimes,  is 
poor  pay  if  an  Academician  is  conscientious,  and  feels 
bound  to  take  a  share  in  the  examination  of  books  and 
the  awarding  of  prizes,  which  work  has  increased  so 
greatly  that  the  poor  dictionary  does  not  advance  one 
single  letter  in  a  quarter  of  a  century.  Then  where  is 
the  advantage  of  being  an  Academician  ?  The  glory  ? 
In  reality,  unless  a  man  has  won  glory  by  his  own 
efforts  the  Academy  cannot  confer  any.  "The  Acad- 
emy," I  once  heard  one  of  the  most  delicate  of  con- 
temporary French  novelists  say — "  the  Academy  is  a 
pinchbeck  Paradise.  The  elect  have  some  fun  at  the 
moment  of  their  reception  when  they  try  on  their  uni- 
form before  their  admiring  family,  and  when  they  wear 
it  in  public  for  the  first  time.  Their  speech,  the  audi- 
ence, the  flattery  of  the  ladies,  the  momentary  social 
success,  the  murmur  which  greets  them  as  they  enter 
Madame  X's  salon,  the  articles  in  the  newspapers — all 
this  amuses  them.  But  the  day  after  their  reception 
they  are  forgotten,  and  fall  back  forever  into  cold  si- 
lence and  black  oblivion.     C'est  un  faux  ParadisT 


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CATHEDRALS  AND   ABBEYS 

In  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  With  Descriptive  Letter-press  by  the  Rev. 
RICHARD  WHEATLEY,  D.D.  Illustrated.  Folio,  Illuminated  Cloth, 
$10  00.     {In  a  Box.) 

HOME   FAIRIES  AND   HEART  FLOWERS. 

Copiously  Illustrated  with  Drawings  and  Engravings  by  FRANK 
FRENCH.  With  Poems  by  MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER.  4to,  Illummat- 
ed  Cloth,  Gilt  Edges,  $6  00.     (In  a  Box.) 

THE   LAND   AND.  THE   BOOK. 

Biblical  Illustrations  drawn  from  the  Manners  and  Customs,  the  Scenes 
and  Scenery  of  the  Holy  Land.  By  WILLIAM  M.  THOMSON,  D.D., 
Forty-five  Years  a  Missionary  in  Syria  and  Palestine.  SOUTHERN 
PALESTINE  AND  JERUSALEM.  — CENTRAL  PALESTINE  AND  PHOE- 
NICIA.—LEBANON,  DAMASCUS,  AND  BEYOND  JORDAN.  Three 
volumes.  Square  8vo.  Profusely  Illustrated.  Each  volume  sold  sepa- 
rately. Price  per  volume:  Cloth,  $600;  Sheep,  $700;  Half  Morocco, 
$8  50  ;  Full  Morocco,  Gilt  Edges,  $10  00.— Popular  Edition.  In  3  volumes, 
Square  8vo,  Cloth,  $9  00 ;     Half  Leather,  $12  00.      {Sold  only  in  Sets.) 

MODERN  SHIPS  OF  WAR. 

By  Sir  EDWARD  J.  REED,  M.P.,  Late  Chief  Constructor  of  the  British 
Navy,  and  EDWARD  SIMPSON,  Rear-Admiral  U.S.N. ,  Late  President 
U.S.  Naval  Advisory  Board.  With  Supplementary  Chapters  and  Notes 
by  J.  D.  JERROLD  KELLEY,  Lieutenant  U.S.N.  Illustrated.  Square 
8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental, $2  50. 

HORSE,  FOOT,  AND   DRAGOONS. 

Sketches  of  Army  Life  at  Home  and  Abroad.  By  RUFUS  FAIRCHILD 
ZOGBAUM.      With   Illustrations   by  the  Author."    Square  8vo,  Cloth, 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 


By  THEODORE   CHILD. 


THE  TRAISE  OF  "PARIS.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth,  Orna- 
mental,    if  list  Ready.) 

^RT  AND  CRITICISM.  Monographs  and  Studies.  Illus- 
trated. Large  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt- 
Top,  $6  GO.     (///  a  Box.) 

It  is  an  especial  piece  of  good-fortune  to  meet  with  a  writer  upon 
art  who  is  at  once  a  discerning  and  lucid  critic  and  skilful  narrator,  with 
a  never-failing  sense  of  what  is  interesting. — yV.  V.  Swi. 

SPANISH-AMERICAN   %EPUBLICS.      Illustrated.      Square 

8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $3  so. 

Mr.  Child  has  produced  a  very  opportune  book,  eminently  readable 
and  attractive,  and  full  of  information. — London  Times. 

THE   TSAR   AND   HIS  "PEOPLE ;   or,  Social  Life  in  Russia. 

By  Theodore  Child,  Eugene  Melchior  de  Vogije,  and  Others. 

Illustrated.     Square  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top, 

$3  GO. 

In  the  ample  literature  concerned  with  the  Russia  of  to-day,  there 
is  probably  now  no  more  attractive  volume,  externally  or  internally, 
than  this  collection  of  papers  relating  to  its  social  and  artistic  aspects, 
— Literary  World,  Boston. 

THE  TDESIRE  OF  "BEAUTY.     Being  Indications  for  /Esthetic 
Culture.     i6mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  75  cents. 
An  attractive  volume,  containing  a  series  of  thoughtful  and  very 

readable  chapters  on  matters  pertaining  to  art,  art  criticism,  and  aesthetic 

culture,  with  discussions  of  such  subjects  as  the  invention  of  beauty,  the 

error  of  realism,  the  educating  of  the  eye,  etc. 

TDELICATE  FEASTING.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  2> 
It  la3's  the  foundation  for  a  liberal  education  in  the  art  of  cooking. 
Many  a  house-keeper  will  get  her  first  clear  idea  of  the  relation  of  good 
food  to  physical,  mental,  and  moral  well-being. — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

SUMMER  HOLIDAYS.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

A  delightful  book  of  notes  of  European  travel.  .  .  .  Mr.  Child  is  an 
art-critic,  and  takes  us  into  the  picture-galleries,  but  we  never  get  any 
large  and  painful  doses  of  art  information  from  this  skilful  and  discrim- 
inating guide.  There  is  not  a  page  in  his  book  that  approaches  to  dull 
reading. — yV.  Y.  Sun. 

Published   by   HARPER   &    BROTHERS,  New  York. 

The  above  works  are  for  sale  ty  all  booksellers,  or  will  he  sent  hy  the  publishers, 
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of  the  price. 


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